Out for Revenge
by Johnlockian
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sebastian Moran knows Sherlock's alive and he's out for revenge. John's going to need to help if either of them are going to get out alive.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is a roleplay so if the structure seems weird at some points that's why. Enjoy :]

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><p>I shot some people. -SM<p>

I ate jam. -JW

I shot the jam -SM

...so that explains the mess. -JW

I love shooting things. Shame I couldn't shoot /you/ -SM

Please don't say we're back to this. -JW

Back to what _Jawnn_? No Sherlock to save you now-SM

You didn't have to remind me of that, funnily enough. If you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it by now so stop with the talk. -JW

I'm just biding my time. I'm waiting until he's about to come back to cause the most pain. Orders are orders.-SM

Come back? What do you mean? -JW

Oh nothing. Only that he left because he wanted to leave you not that he's actually dead... you'd have to be _stupid_ to believe that. -SM

I've already been through that stage, the doubting and the anger and blame. I've already thought of all of that, but I was wrong and you're wrong now. -JW

I saw him fall, he's definitely...gone. -JW

Well I've seen him. Actually no, I've shot him, barely got him though... his reactions are quite quick aren't they? -SM

I'm not paying any attention to you, you're lying. -JW

He's cut off those long curls, too bad for him those cheekbones only make him stand out more in the crowds... Tries to hide, dressing down in dirty scruffy clothes, if I didn't know better he'd look like a common hoodie. Surely you've noticed the hoodie following you around sometimes _Jawwwn_? -SM

Anyway, I doubt you'll see him again any time soon. What with how much blood that wound was leaking after all. -SM

I think I'd know if I saw Sherlock, thank you. You've obviously got the wrong person. -JW

Really now? Can't you see those eyes? -SM

IMG_059 -SM

Want to see the one after I got him? -SM

...it could be anyone. -JW

Zoom in on the pocket. -SM

It was only last week your notebook went missing wasn't it? -SM

Doesn't look like you'll be finding it at the flat. -SM

Shut up, it's not him! That could be photoshop, a coincidence, anything. -JW

It's not him, because he'd have come back for me. -JW

IMG_062 -SM

Not so sure now are you. -SM

Stop it. -JW

Why would he come back to you? Idiot man who can't even keep up with him _running_ let alone mentally. -SM

Want to see the blood? -SM

We were _friends_, that's why. -JW

Do you really believe he's you're friend? You're even more pitiful then I thought... Why would he possibly be friends with you? -SM

I don't know, but he was. -JW

Tut-tut. You really think you were more than a convenience to keep the fridge in milk, make tea and keep the clients coming? -SM

You were a mere tool to him. -SM

What do you want? -JW

Nothing. -SM

I just like watching your responses -SM

You know he doesn't even care about how much he's hurt you. Poor pitiful _Jawwwnnn _-SM

No, none of this is Sherlock's fault. It's you doing this to me. -JW

Why didn't he tell you then John? He could of told you he was alive... He knew we knew anyway. It's not like he was protecting you keeping the information from you. -SM

Because he's not alive. And...well, if he is, I don't know, alright? I'm not as clever as him, he'll have a plan. -JW

IMG_067 -SM

See the clock with the date in the back ground. -SM

Stop this now, I've had enough. -JW

Just one more. -SM

IMG_070 -SM

Bet you wish you could help him with that _doctor_ -SM

That was last night, just if you wanted to know. -SM

This isn't funny. -JW

I know. I'm so serious right now. -SM

Where is he? -JW

I don't know. I didn't follow his bleeding mess that's someone else's job I was just there for the shooting and the photos. -SM

I'll be seeing you soon _Jawnnnnn._ But you won't be seeing me. -SM

Do you ever stop with the creepy shit? -JW

This isn't _creepy_ on my scale. I'm being nice. -SM

I'm going to find Sherlock, and when I do, I'm going to find you. -JW

I'll be finding you first. And I wouldn't search for Sherlock unless you want to be confronted by a relapsing druggie. He took morphine to dull the bullet wound. Hmmm. _What._ A. shameee... -SM

I'll cope. We'll cope. -JW

The web is closing in on him now. You'd better hurry if he's going to get out of there. It's amusing really, he was getting _so_ close to me. -SM

Still not funny. -JW

No simply mildly amusing. -SM

Ironic really. I find him before he finds me, when he's the one looking so feverishly. -SM

Just tell me where he is. -JW

As I said... I don't know. Exactly. -SM

Don't worry. It'll all be over soon Jawwny -SM

That's not exactly reassuring. -JW

Maybe he's close to where he was in the pictures, I don't know really... but he can't of got _farrr _-SM

You've got to know, you're the one who tried to KILL him. -JW

As I said before _John_ it's not MY job to follow the bleeding druggie mess. I could find out where he is but it's not like I'd tell _you_ anyway. -SM

Where were the photos taken, then? -JW

Can't you work it out... it's not like they haven't got backgrounds. -SM

I'm not a detective. -JW

You could just tell me and I won't have to go to the Yard to get them to help. -JW

Get the Yard. I could take out every one of them in less then five minutes and they wouldn't know what had hit them. But know this, if you get the Yard involved, NO-ONE will be getting out. -SM

What are you getting out of this? -JW

Amusement, and revenge. -SM

You're sick. -JW

No I'm feeling perfectly well thank you for asking. -SM

You worked out where he is yet? -SM

I can see a Tube sign in the background of one of the photos so he's still in London. -JW

Obviously. Try harder. -SM

On the Piccadilly line? Not zone one. -JW

Oh you'd like to know... Warmer. -SM

There's City workers in all of the photos, but I can't see any of the banks or offices so you're further down the line. -JW

Ealing? -JW

Why don't you go... hunting... -SM

You've come far today _Jawnnnnn_ -SM

Now what? We have a showdown on Ealing Common's northbound platform? -JW

As I said; I'll be seeing you, you won't be seeing me. -SM

Right, of course, can't expect you to settle something on equal ground. -JW

Ready. Set. Go. Play the game John, Sherlock's dying for real this time. -SM

No, he's not. I won't let him. -JW

Oh but John, how quaint. I was meaning, _right now_ he's in the process. Hurry up lover boy or he's going to die before you tell him -SM

I can't make the train go any faster. Do something. -JW

Want me to shoot him again? -SM

I could put him out of his misery... -SM

Don't even think about it. -JW

I am a little trigger happy... another bullet couldn't hurt _much_ more... just in the other leg or something... -SM

I'm just changing onto the Piccadilly line now, I'll be fifteen minutes. Just keep him alive and I'll play your stupid games with you when I get there. -JW

Oh but I'm not the one playing... -SM

I play my games at the shooting range... -SM

OH WAIT. -SM

The Sherlock Shooting Range. Nice name, _don't you think?_-SM

Not the time. -JW

But this seems like the _perfect_ time _JAWN_ -SM

Just got off the tube, I have other things on my mind. -JW

Like what Jawnnnnnnnnnn? -SM

Like you have to ask. -JW

Humor me. -SM

Finding Sherlock, for one. -JW

And for two...? -SM

Stopping him dying. -JW

And a threeeeeeeeee? -SM

I don't know what you want me to say. -JW

I need to find Sherlock and save Sherlock and then I'll think about what I'll do next. -JW

Oh I think you know what I mean really... -SM

You know you're an idiot, not even bringing a first aid kit when you knew he'd been _shot_ -SM

I've got what I'll need in my pockets. I have had practice at this, you know? -JW

Oh I do, remember what it felt like being shot John... That's what Sherlock is going though..._alooone_ -SM

Of course I remember, your commentary of this really isn't helping. -JW

Nerve endings shattering, mind numbing pain, nausea rising, faint coming, cold sweat... blood gushing... -SM

Tears falling without even noticing, making your mouth bleed as you clamp down against the pain... -SM

Skin paling... white... lack of blood... dying... wishing for death to take away the pain... -SM

Sherlock's stronger than that. -JW

But Sherlock's got it worse... Drug withdrawal as well by now. -SM

I've seen people get through worse. -JW

But I shot him _last night _realistically how much time does he have? Oh the chances he's survived so far are against the odds! -SM

The odds don't mean anything. -JW

But Sherlock would disagree, probability of dying is a lot higher than surviving at this point... -SM

Think rationally John. He'll be gone soon. Minutes, not hours. -SM

Now how will you find him? Any guesses... yes they are guesses at this point it's not like you know where he _could _have gone... -SM

He's hiding somewhere, somewhere clever. -JW

Blood loss, dimming the brain... can't think straight, can't see straight... Begging... pleading... those last words to the world before you pass out. -SM

You don't just dim Sherlock's brain. -JW

All brains are dim in death John... even Sherlock's. -SM

He's avoiding CCTV. Mycroft would've seen him, otherwise, and Mycroft would have done something. -JW

That means he left the Tube station before you shot him because the British Transport Police watch the stations obsessively. -JW

OH well done Johnny boy... Then what? -SM

We're in London, there's not many places you can go without being on camera. It won't be hard to find them. -JW

Where now _Jawnnn_ you're running out of time... surely he's going to be gone soon... -SM

The park's too close to the university for him to not be sighted, so not there. He won't have gotten much further than that, however stubborn he is. -JW

Residential areas cover the other three sides of the station, again, he'd be seen. -JW

God, he'd be shouting at me right now for missing whatever it is. -JW

So where OH WHERE is it? -SM

The tracks! He's somewhere along the tracks. -JW

Oh aren't you a clever little sniffer dog of a pet. -SM

I'm sorry John, I was going to come back to you after I'd finished Moriarty's web... it was a fake suicide... But I've failed in this case. This time's goodbye for real John. I'm so sorry. Please know that you were loved by me and there is no tragedy in that. HAve a happy life, for me, please. -SH

You're an idiot, Sherlock, a complete tosser of an idiot. -JW

And even though I mean that, they can't be my last words to you so you'd better keep still and not die. -JW

I mean that, don't you dare die. -JW

Who else are you texting? Why haven't you found him yet? -SM

Don't tell me I'm ruining your plans? -JW

Oh no... just curious... -SM

You'll stumble upon a corpse soon enough. -SM

No, I won't. I can't. It's not happening. -JW

Dreadfully pale body... blood pool. -SM

He's not dying, shut up. -JW

Thought you'd be here before me. -SM

I'm there. Where are you? -JW

Wouldn't you like to know... I'll let you have a moment with the body... -SM

John immediately begins treatment, doing everything on autopilot. "Sherlock, I'm here, you can open your eyes. Sherlock, this isn't funny, not again," he pleads.


	2. Chapter 2

A slight breath comes from Sherlock as John moves him and his whole body convulses in tremors of pain. He'd be gone soon if John didn't get an ambulance and fast.

"Stay still, just stay still and breathe, Sherlock," John orders. His phone is in one hand, making the much needed call to 999 while the other presses against the bullet wound.

"Well... well... well... The Detective and his pet together again at last. I was just going to snipe you but I wanted to relish in this. How's he doing _Jawwwn_? He doesn't look good..." Moran raises his gun and points it directly at John's heart. "You know too much, always knew I'd have to get rid of you _both_ anyway. It was pointless for Sherlock to even pretend to kill himself for you... He caused so much pain on his own accord..." Sebastian laughed, cruel and barking. "Not got much longer..."

The phone gets dropped, leaving the 999 operator just hanging on the line whilst John reaches for his own gun. He points it at nobody, just holds it and trusts his reflexes will be quick enough if he needs them. He stares past the barrel of the gun pointing at him, forces an unsteady breath into his lungs then turns back to Sherlock. "It's alright," he whispers, over and over. "It's alright, I'm here, I love you, you'll be okay."

"And the third penny _finally_ drops..." Sebastian's laughter is manically now. "Life for a life John... except I'm folding to _charity_ and killing you too, you were SOOO PITIFUL without him. Seriously. Barely more than a dog... Dog's are easily put down." ...Sherlock groans trying to move but can't, his mouth is moving furiously but no sound is coming out. "Oh! This is hilarious the great fake speechless! I'll put you out of your misery Sherrrrrrrrrrrrlock." Moran fires a shot randomly in the direction of Sherlock's almost dead form.

John strokes through Sherlock's hair, still whispering vague assurances and hoping he's falling for them. "Shhh, don't listen to him, we're going to be fine, I've got you, it's-" The sound of the trigger being pulled prompts a lightning-fast response from John and he moves to be in between Sherlock and Moran, his own gun ready to be fired.

"Ohhh quick reactions... you're lucky that I wasn't trying to hit then or you'd be down too..." Moran laughs some more. "I really am having fun tormenting you two... I'd be almost inclined to let you go and have some fun another time if you hadn't destroyed Jim..." Moran cocked his gun again as sirens could be heard in the distance. "Any last words John?"

"Stop panicking, it's the paramedics, not the police. You don't have to do this, please." John looks at Sherlock -the man he's killed for, the man he'd kill for again- trying to silently ask for some sort of advice or sign.

Sherlock was still, in the almost faint he looked dead except the slow and irregular movement of his chest. He wasn't in a state where he could move let alone think or give a sign to John, John was going to have to take control of the situation if he wanted either one of them to survive.

"Ha, master's not going to save you now. Pretty sure I told you that early on in this conversation John... No more Sherlock to save you... No more Sherlock at all! Just like there's no more Jim and it's just you and me now. I have nothing to loose, yet you have everything. Nervous John?" Moran fiddles with his gun spinning it lazily waiting for a response, he figured he had about five minutes before the paramedics found them...

John feels the colour drain from his face and he realises he doesn't have a choice. He can play this game for as long as he wants but it won't get him anywhere. He knows he can only make one move and if he chooses it, he has to make it soon. "Not nervous," he says, and the steadiness about him supports his words. All it takes is a tiny flick of the wrist to change his target, his gun is pointing at Moran's shoulder now, and he shoots.

Moran staggers backwards tripping but regaining his balance. "I've had worse than that you bastard..." Moran is gritting his teeth, fresh waves of pain flooding over him... He swapped his gun hand, lucky he'd trained with both, unlucky he wasn't very good aim with his opposite hand. Moran fired at John's leg to cripple him, hopefully get the main artery but he doubted it with this aim. Knowing the ambulances would be alerted to the gun shots he turned and fled from the scene, staggering and swaying. He'd aim to get to the safe hold of the web... it wasn't far from here. He could make it; he could get treatment...

John has chance to prepare for what he knows is coming and he takes deep breaths, waiting for the gunshot and the pain. His stomach lurches as it hits and he forces himself not to look down, instead concentrating on Sherlock. He tries to feel for a pulse but his own is thrumming so loudly it's impossible to tell whether there's one left in his friend. "He's gone, he's gone," John repeats in a voice raspy from his own pain. "Not much longer, please hang on Sherlock, please."

Sherlock was still, unmoving.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock, come on, the ambulance is almost here you need to open your eyes," John tries again, this time behind a poorly hidden sob. "Come on."

The ambulance lights can be seen glaring around the scene. Paramedics shout as they jump down running forward with equipment, they rush to John, automatically assuming Sherlock is dead already and determining that John has a very high chance of survival if the blood is stopped. John is swamped by the medics but even through his obstructed gaze he can see Sherlock take one strained breath as he's pried from him and pushed onto a stretcher. "It's going to be okay, we've got you..." The medics were trying to keep his focus on them, obviously worried.

"I'm okay," he insists, pointing and pushing the paramedics away from him and towards Sherlock. "I'm OKAY," he shouts, "And he's not, help him, help him, save him." They're not listening, so John tries again and again. "I'm okay, I'm a doctor, I'm barely into the second stage of hypovolemia. I'm not going to die, I can cope with this until a second crew arrives. Sherlock can't," He's managed to slow his breathing to a normal rate and he hopes some sort of medical language will help convince them that they can leave him and help Sherlock instead.

In a flurry of arms all but one of the paramedics jump into action assessing Sherlock's state. "He's past critical." They're seeing to his wounds... "He's lost too much blood, he needs a blood transfusion right now his he's going to have even the slimiest of chances..." Their guilty states reach John, they're losing hope, there isn't much they can do. The transfusion is set up but none of the colour is returning to Sherlock's way too pale skin. The second ambulance arrives and more paramedics swarm out, buzzing with adrenaline to help; they pale at the sight before them. They take up work on John again rushing him into the ambulance before closing the doors to drive for the hospital leaving Sherlock and the other paramedics behind...

"I'm fine," John tells the next group of paramedics that arrive. He wants to stay and oversee Sherlock's treatment, not get dragged into the ambulance but he's no match for the medics. "Let me stay with him," he begs, "it's just soft tissue, mostly. All it needs is some pain relief and some minor surgery, it can wait."

The paramedics put John under on the speedy drive to the hospital, when they arrive he's rushed into the emergency department and almost straight into the operating theatre where they proceed to dig the bullet out and try to rearrange his flesh.

Meanwhile back at the scene Sherlock has had two blood transfusions, his outlook hasn't changed but they're still working furiously, struggling to keep him alive. Sherlock's breaths a shallow and infrequent. He's moved which great care into the ambulance and they too speed off to the hospital...

Away from the distraction of Sherlock, John realises almost instantly how much pain he's in. It's exactly like he remembers and he just wants it to _stop_. He puts up little resistance to the paramedics now, despite asking about Sherlock right up until the moment he goes under.

When he wakes up in hospital hours later, groggy from anaesthetic and morphine, still the first thing he asks from the nurses in recovery is to know what happened to Sherlock.

"Do you mean the other man that came in shortly after you? The one that was..." the nurse trailed of awkwardly. "I'll go see what I can find out for you." She snaked off to ask her supervisor what she could actually tell John.

"The one that was what?" John shouts after her, trying to sit up too quickly and being overcome with nausea. He's not sure whether it's a result of the medications or the worry, but it's making his head spin either way.

She returns slightly afterwards, shaking her head and making him lay back down. "Now sir if you don't relax I'm not allowed to tell you anything, you need to breathe and calm down. Do you understand me?"

"Let's see you relax after being shot," John counters, but lies down anyway (if only so he doesn't throw up). "I'm trying to relax," he assures her.

"Okay I can see that... Yes yes very hard to relax after being shot I'm sure, I only meant for you to retain the amount of relaxation you had before you started yelling. Take a deep breath... Good." She took a deep breath herself and swallowed. "The man who arrived after you was unconscious without drugs, he'd had the maximum amount of blood transfusions allowed, he still didn't look much better. They took him to surgery anyway by the urging of a classified source, they managed to dig out the bullet and vaguely reconnect the tissue. He was comatose when he got out of surgery. That was four hours ago now, he hasn't woken up. It's not looking good. He's in intensive care, private ward... I'm sorry, please try to rest now. I'll have a doctor come assess you and adjust your medication."

John lies down flat, trying to sort through the nurse's words. He manages to take some more deep breaths, hoping that the oxygen will force some sort of clarity into his mind again. He hates how distracted he's feeling right now. "I want to see him," he says eventually. If he can see Sherlock, he'll know for himself how serious things are, he'll be able to help make suggestions for treatment and he'll have something to take his mind off of his own wound. "I'm okay with the medication I'm on, I just want to see Sherlock."

"I'm under the highest orders not to let you leave your bed. We can have you put under again if you would make you more comfortable?"

John shakes his head. "No, no, you're not doing that." He looks over at his chart. "What you've got down for me is fine, I'll manage on that. I need to see him though, you don't understand. I need to."

"No. Highest orders. More than my job is worth to even let you sit in a chair let alone take you down the corridor. Try to sleep, I'll come back to check on you soon." With that the nurse walked away to check on other patients.

John decides that this undoubtedly so much worse than when he got shot in Afghanistan. He's never been very good at being the patient and the staff's reluctance to share anything with him only infuriates him more. There's no way he can get to sleep, even if he wanted to, so he just lies and looks at the ceiling, waiting for more news.


	4. Chapter 4

The nurse checks up on him a few times but doesn't say anything other than, "No more news."

Hours later Mycroft walks in. "Ah John, I'm glad to see that you are awake."

John manages to ease himself up this time, sitting more or less upright without any of the nausea or light-headedness of earlier. "Tell me what's happening," he asks, straight to the point.

"He's still comatose; however his vitals are improving steadily. Hopes are improving however he's still in flux. I've employed the very best to be on hand for him at all time, minus you of course. You are to stay in bed. I know how bad my brother has been over the past years he's been away. If he were to wake up and he you were in this state it could throw him into shock and do more harm than good. Try your very hardest to rest and heal. We're estimating he should awake in a couple of hours at best, at worst a couple of days. Depending on the situation you'll be allowed to see him tomorrow." Mycroft said all this matter-of-factly but finished looking worried. "I don't want you to be lulled into false hopes however, there is still a chance he won't make it."

"I'm fine," he says, and he's sure it must be the thousandth time that day. Nobody seems to be taking his word for it though, probably because he's almost manic in displaying his concern for Sherlock. He pushes back all the questions on the tip of his tongue and accepts what everybody is telling him; he needs to rest. It's what he'd tell himself if he was his own doctor, and admittedly he _is_ tired. "Tell me immediately if anything changes," John requests, then lies himself down again."Somebody should probably tell my sister about this too."

"I'll see to it." Mycroft says. "Also John, _do_ get better soon."

"I'll try," John assures Mycroft, carefully lying back down and closing his eyes.

Mycroft turns and walks out, his umbrella hanging still where he would usually be swinging it.

The nurse comes over, "Do you want sleeping medication...? Your rest is vital to recovery now."

When the nurse offers him more medication, he reluctantly accepts it. "Just a small dose."

The nurse administers a dose directly through his IV and it lulls him into a deep sleep for several hours taking him well into the night.

John quickly gets very sleepy and before he knows it, he can't keep his eyes open any longer. When he sleeps, it's mostly dreamless and peaceful and calm except for the occasional wince every so often, causing him to stir briefly before going back to sleep.

John is still sleeping when Mycroft returns, whispering to the nurse trying to determine whether to wake him.

"What do you think? Should we wake him?" Mycroft enquired.

"No, no, let him sleep... we can tell him once he wakes up." The nurse replied.

"Okay, when he wakes collect me from the canteen."

Mycroft walked off again and the nurse returned to her rounds.

It's almost morning by the time John wakes up, and only then because he's not had any painkillers in too long.

The nurse spots he's awake and hurries over, "Feeling any better?" She sets to adjusting the medication again.

"That depends on how Sherlock is," John answers, hopefully.

"I'll be back soon, I was told to fetch someone when you woke up." The nurse hurried off, returning a few minutes later with Mycroft puffing along behind in a dignified manner. "Hello John, how are you feeling?"

"Better," John admits. "Sort of. I'm confused, and it all depends how Sherlock is...but the actual wound isn't quite so bad."

"The wound isn't as bad as the one you sustained in Afghanistan medically, it didn't hit on target and you're lucky for that. I think you'll be pleased to hear I have some good news for you on the Sherlock front. He woke up. Around 3AM. He's still weak and he may need another blood transfusion depending on how well his body copes. It is a worry though; you know how he puts strain on his body, not sleeping or eating properly. We put him under again when he started getting worked up asking for you. His condition is a lot more stable now."

John feels instantly better for hearing that Sherlock's okay, then even more so for some reason on discovering that he'd been asking for him. "I want to see him." He hopes his request will be met this time, especially given how much healthier he feels already.

"I've already gone to the trouble of having food sent up to you, it should be here soon. Once you've eaten and we've checked with the doctors we'll see. I am myself in favour of it; I think Sherlock will be much more agreeable if you're there when he wakes up. He was _quite_ frantic before."

Mycroft walked away to talk with the doctors.

"I _am_ a doctor, and I say I'm well enough to go!" John pushes himself up and tries to get out of bed. If nobody will let him go and see Sherlock, he'll take himself. The pain in his leg intensifies at the slightest movement, and he hisses, able to stand for less than a second before collapsing back down onto the mattress.

Soon after a cook with a cart came walking down the aisle. She passed him a tray with a big meal, a slice of cake and some orange juice on and walked away again.

When the food arrives, John picks half-heartedly at it, not the slightest bit hungry.

Mycroft returns a few minutes later. "I see the food had arrived but it seems not to be to your taste, I would have thought you'd be hungry. And as for the point that you're a doctor: I know that but it's not your physical state that we are assessing. We're assessing whether the strain of being woken up again plus the added excitement of seeing you and news on the case will be too much for Sherlock whilst he's this fragile."

John shakes his head, pushing the plate away. "Too much going on to be hungry," he says. He knows that he should eat, but he just doesn't feel like it yet. Maybe after he's seen Sherlock. "And? What did your doctors decide, then?" He's determined to see Sherlock despite what is decided for him, it'll just be a lot easier and less painful if he's given permission.

"I've sent for a wheelchair. However, you are not moving until you have finished that food and we've cleaned you up a little. It wouldn't do Sherlock well to see you in this state." Mycroft gives John a knowing look.

John glares at Mycroft defiantly, then pulls the tray closer again and forces the food down in large mouthfuls, too quickly to even taste it properly. "Happy now?" he asks, tipping the empty plate up to show Mycroft.

Mycroft smiles grimly, "Is this really a time to be positively happy? I am _pleased_ at your eating though it saves me from having to have you restrained and banned from the private wards by security until you had."

"I suppose not," John agrees, face paling. He's built up an image in his head where Sherlock is completely fine and Mycroft keeps reminding him that this is not the case. "That wouldn't be necessary."

"John, I'm sorry to keep shattering your hopes, _truely_ I am. However, it would be better for you to not imagine everything is well. The contrast of reality with your mental image will probably distress you no end. Finish all your food. The nurse will be here to help clean you up soon."

Ordinarily, feeling this sick would put a complete stop to the chances of John eating anything more. As it's his only chance of getting to Sherlock, though, he forces down the cake and the rest of the orange juice and waits for the nurse. He wants to shout that he doesn't need any help, but he learned long ago that it's always easier to just go along with Mycroft's orders.

"Good. I'll wait outside." Mycroft turned and walked away when he saw the nurse hurry over with a new set of pajamas, a bowl of water and a few towels. He nodded at her on his way out.

"How are you feeling?" The nurse repeated the question she asked so many times a day.

John ignores the question at first because he doesn't know how to answer. "Overwhelmed," he replies eventually, deeming that the most accurate way of describing everything that had happened.

"Understandable. Now let me just draw the curtains and we'll get you cleaned up. I can't say I agree with them for allowing you to move." She frowned at the conversation she'd had earlier where everything she'd said in the best interests of her patient had been rejected. Closing the curtains she turned back to John. "Can you move the upper half of your body without too much pain?"

John shook his head. "I'm hardly moving, it'll be fine," he says, starting to get bored of constantly having to persuade everyone to let him do anything. He twists his body round, testing his range of movement, then nods. "A little bit, it's not too bad."

"Good, use the water and this towel to clean yourself while I change your wound dressings..." She took the covers off the bed and piled them in a heap on the chair before setting to work, she was quick and accurate but still surprisingly gentle as she checked over, cleaned ("Just in case...") and re-bandaged the gun wound on his leg.

John does as he's asked, pausing for a moment when his curiosity gets the better of him and he has to lean down to get a good look at the wound. He's pleased with whichever surgeons operated on him, it should heal well. As the nurse cleans it, he goes back to wiping dried blood from himself, concentrating on that rather than the stinging.

"There, all done. Are you nearly finished? Once you have I've been _instructed_ to put you in these and put you in a wheelchair." By the way she said instructed it was obvious she hadn't had any choice, it was an order and she wasn't happy about it. She held up the pajamas at her words.

Getting on the wrong side of his nurse would only make things difficult, but John couldn't help but get annoyed with her tone of voice and how vehemently she seemed to be against letting him see Sherlock. He wiped the last of the blood away and nodded. "Ready."

The nurse handed him the shirt of the set to change into and set to work easing the trousers over his wound. "There," she said as she straightened up. "Done. I'll be back with the wheelchair in just a moment." She smiled sadly as she walked out of the curtains still drawn around his bed.

Feeling like an idiot in the hospital pyjamas, John shuffled himself over to the edge of the bed, waiting for her to bring the chair to take him up to Sherlock's ward. He's not quite sure how he's going to react when he sees his best friend again and he's worried he'll make a complete fool of himself.

The nurse returns pushing a wheelchair with extensive leg support and arranges it at a suitable angle so that she can help John into it without him putting excessive amounts of pressure on his leg. "There now, someone will be along to take you to the intensive care unit soon. You are to wait here, do not try to push yourself there. I have to go see other patients now. I'll check in on you when you return, goodbye." and with that the nurse snaked off again.

John's impatience quickly grows and if not for the nurse's explicit order for him not to make his own way to the ICU he'd be on his way by now. He gingerly shifts his weight around in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position for his leg to rest in. He's getting tired of waiting and he just wants to go.


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft returns, followed by another nurse. "Ready to go?"

"I was about to get up and walk there myself," John says, only half joking.

"Hmm, I doubt that." Mycroft leads the way as the nurse pushes John behind. "John, you're probably in for a bit of a shock. We decided it was better _for him_ to wait till you were there to wake him up but you may... well you'll see."

"If there's anything you need to tell me, tell me now before I see him." John wants to know what to expect, just in case, because this is Sherlock and it's personal. "I don't get shocked easily, not after what I've seen before."

"John you know how he looked? He doesn't look any better."

John takes a deep breath. "Okay." He's silent for a while. "Until yesterday I thought he was dead, though. Anything's better than that."

Mycroft opened the door to the private room where Sherlock was. Sherlock was laid in a bed barely moving and white as death. The machines he was plugged into beeped and buzzed as a doctor took notes, frowning.

When the nurse let go of his wheelchair, John manoeuvred it closer to Sherlock's bed. He kept one eye on the machines' monitors, interpreting the results almost as if this was his own patient, thinking of ways to improve Sherlock's chances, make things easier.

"You okay there?" The nurse said nervously from where she stood.

John nodded, but didn't look away from Sherlock and the machines. "Where's his chart? I want to look at it."

The doctor handed it over. "He's better than he looks, however minimally, so if you can understand the chart it might make you feel a bit more relaxed." The doctor looked dubious, he didn't know that John was a doctor too.

John thought about explaining (yet again) that he was a doctor and he knew what he was talking about, but it wasn't worth raising his blood pressure over. He follows the course of treatment so far across the page with his finger then nods, satisfied, and passes the chart back.

The doctor nods in reply, "We're going to ease him off the sleeping drugs now you've arrived he may take a while to wake up." The doctor turned and started altering the IV drip. Mycroft sat in a chair in the corner pulling out his phone and firing off texts without looking at John.

John quietly watches the doctor's movements. "You're going to want to increase his oxygen concentration too," he suggests. "It helps."

"Ah, are you a doctor as well?" was his only comment before following the advice. "I'll be staying till he wakes up to make sure there are no difficulties and to give him a physical check once he wakes up." The doctor went back to the machines.

"I was a medic in the Army, then I..." he trails off. Yes would have been an easier answer. John drags his eyes away from the machine and watches Sherlock instead, waiting for any signs of consciousness.

The doctor didn't answer, sensing the uncomfortable topic, he simply continued to note any changes in the machines, took Sherlock's pulse then went back to the machines. The time ticked on slowly but eventually after about ten minutes Sherlock stirred, muscles in his hand and face twitching.

"Sherlock," John whispers as his best friend begins to wake up. "Just take it easy, okay." He hesitates for only a moment, then reaches for Sherlock's hand and takes it gently.

Sherlock's eyes snap open at the touch, he whipped around alert but disorientated. His eyes looking around wildly till they fixed on John's. "Ah..." Sherlock immediately relaxed, "You're here."

John glances away for a second, pretending to look at the monitors. He's dangerously close to embarrassing himself and crying, so he takes some deep breaths and a real glance at the machines before turning back. "Yeah, I am. So are you, somehow."

"Thanks to you..." Sherlock muttered this and closed his eyes again but squeezed John's hand to let him know he was still awake.

"I should've come sooner." His tone was apologetic as he squeezes Sherlock's hand in return. "Go back to sleep if you want, get some rest. I'll stay here."

Sherlock didn't reply, even small amounts of speech drained him. His body ached and he brain was dizzy, unable to think straight; the only thing tethering him to the world was the warmth in his hand which slowly spreading through his body as his heart strained to continue pumping blood.

John carries on speaking to Sherlock even though he's not getting a reply. He keeps talking about 'boring' things like the weather and TV shows and the new Chinese that had just opened around the corner.

Sherlock has a small smile on his face as the mundane features of John's life wash over him, calming him even more. He listens to the parts that he's missed and longed for in the past years remembering the life he and John had before the fall. He was snapped out of his trance-like state by cold fingers on his other wrist taking his pulse and then moving to his wound. Sherlock inhaled sharply, the numbing calmness broken by the shattering pain entering his dizzy brain.

John shushes Sherlock and rubs his hand, trying to sooth him. He continues his pointless stories, his voice louder now to try and keep Sherlock focused on him and not the pain. "...and I've started going to the pub quiz with Greg and some of his mates from the Yard every Sunday. We're rubbish at it, but we actually made it to the tie-breaker last week." He pauses his story to look up, urging the doctor to hurry up.

The doctor looked down at the mangled wound that was slowly beginning to tie itself back together... "There's going to be a massive scar here..." he muttered under his breath as he re-bandaged it. He looked apologetically at them both before saying to John, "He seems stable for now, anything happens ring the bell, I'll be on hand but I'll give you three some privacy... come on Nurse Thompson." The doctor and nurse left the room.

John watches the doctor and nurse leave, sparing a seconds glance into the corner at Mycroft, before he turns back to Sherlock. "Okay?" he whispers, squeezing his hand. "We lost the tie-breaker, by the way. Question was what year was dynamite invented. You'd have known it, I bet."

Sherlock squeezed his hand in return but didn't answer. He couldn't find the correct answer in his whirling brain... 1867...1863... 1899... 2009... all the dates connected to it but he couldn't decide which one... Mycroft cleared his throat in the background, demanding attention from them both.

"Anyway, we said 1750, we were way off." John looked over to Mycroft, eyebrows raised. "What?" he said, sounding annoyed at being interrupted.

"Well, after I found out what happened I sent out MI7 to the scene after Moran. It seems they've come back empty handed. In light of these events I'm having you both placed under the highest security. However to make this easier you should probably be closer together in the hospital, or at least John shouldn't be in a public ward."


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock snapped up at the mention of Moran looking wildly around again, trying to focus on outside the window. His eyes blurred as the movement sent more waves of pain over him. He gasped. "How could they get..." Sherlock inhaled and worked through the almost overwhelming pain, "How could they..." Gasp. "Come back empty handed?" He took a couple of steadying breaths. "MI7 for... idiots."

John couldn't help but grin at what Mycroft was saying. It was bad news, obviously, that Moran was gone, and high-security grew tedious very quickly, but it meant he'd be near Sherlock and that was one good thing. He almost forgot about his own injury in light of Sherlock's reaction to the news, jarring his leg as he reached forwards to restrain his friend. He winced with the pain and sat back, adopting a stern voice instead. "Sherlock, lie down!" he ordered. "Lie down, that's not helping anything, is it?"

Sherlock complied by John's orders and lay still on the bed again, still taking deep breaths tightening his grip on John's hand further. "So is John being moved to this room?" The corners of his mouth twitched upwards slightly.

John's voice softened. "Good, just take deep breaths, you're okay." He looked over to Mycroft for confirmation of what Sherlock had just asked. "I think that'd be the best idea," he said hopefully.

"I'm not sure there is really enough room. Maybe I can arrange for the one next door... I don't think it would be sensible to move Sherlock to a double room in this condition." Mycroft was amused by this somehow.

John is about to protest, when he looks around the room and realises Mycroft is right. There's not enough space and as much as he wants to be near to Sherlock, he doesn't want it if it will compromise his treatment in any way.

"Next door then, it's still close enough for me to be able to come and sit with you," he promises.

"I'll have it arranged." Mycroft says as he walks out the door, leaving them alone.

When the door has closed behind Mycroft and John is sure they're alone, he slumps forwards, resting his forehead against the edge of Sherlock's bed, speaking in barely audible tones. "I've missed you so much."

"John... I... I mis- John... I... I'm sorry." Sherlock's spluttering trying to find the right words, his brain still feels dizzy but as time's moving on it's getting slowly more clear. It's all he can do to clutch John's hand and look into his eyes to try and make him understand everything.

"Sherlock, relax." He looks up and gives Sherlock a watery smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder, his heart secretly swelling at the spluttered words.

Sherlock is alarmed to see the tears forming in John's eyes, his chest suddenly feels a strange tightness. He needs John to understand. He has to understand. Sherlock's breathing quickens, "John..." that's the only thing he can say. He wants to comfort him but doesn't know how, he wants to tell him everything but he's so weak...

"It's alright, I understand." That's a lie, John doesn't understand why the most important person in his life walked out on him, straight off of the roof of Barts. He doesn't understand why he pretended to be dead for so long, without so much as a text. He should be angry, but he can't be now, after what's happened. There'll be time for being angry in a few weeks or months, but not now. "Don't get worked up, it's alright."

Sherlock closes his eyes in a different kind of pain from that which already filled his entire body. He turned his head away, ashamed. "I'm sorry. Understand that at least."

"I know." John watches Sherlock in silence for a long time, just smiling at the fact that he was back. "Do you need anything?" he asks eventually.

"Just you to stay."

"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," John says, laughing quietly.

"But the doctors might..." Sherlock trailed off not wanting to argue, this was the first time he'd been able to talk to John in years he didn't want to ruin it. Still, he was exhausted and was struggling to stay awake even though he'd been asleep for hours already... more than he'd slept in so very long.

"The doctors don't know as much as they think they do." While the hospital staff might be wrong about it being a bad idea for John to come down to visit in Intensive Care, he had to admit that they were right about him needing to rest. He yawns and leans his head down on Sherlock's mattress, using his free hand as a cushion. "Mind if I just..?" he asks, closing his eyes.

"Sleep John..." Sherlock stretches out his other hand intent of stroking John's hair to help him sleep, he freezes before he makes contact worrying about if John didn't want him to... Sherlock places his hand very gentle on the back on John's head, cradling it, testing John's reaction.

John turns his head towards Sherlock's hand, smiling up at him sleepily. "You should sleep too."

Sherlock strokes John's hair and murmurs "John...sleep..." He smiles to himself and closes his eyes, still stroking John's hair.

John's asleep within minutes, snoring ever so lightly and clutching Sherlock's hand as if their lives depended on it. Ever so often an image from the previous day would enter his dreams, causing John to squeeze harder but not quite stir.

Sherlock continued stroking John's hair, hoping it would sooth him past the nightmares he knew he was having but soon Sherlock dropped off to sleep too, his head drooping in the direction of John.

A good time later, John wakes up. His first reaction at seeing Sherlock asleep is to smile, happy that he's getting the rest that he needs. However, the longer he looks at that pale face and the bandages and the wires, the more worried he becomes.

Sherlock feels John tense even in his sleep and forces his eyes open, glancing down at him to check he's okay. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's fine, go back to sleep." He reaches over to Sherlock's chart, reading through his notes again and trying to come up with an estimate for how long things will take.

Sherlock strokes the back of John's hand and falls easily back to sleep comforted that he's still there.

John tries to concentrate on the words but he's feeling sluggish. He should be back on his own ward by now, getting more medicine and lying down, but he can't leave Sherlock.

Mycroft returns leading in two doctors. "The room next door has been secured and prepared for you John, you have to return there for at least two hours to be checked over and given more medicines, don't argue." One of the doctors was looking over Sherlock, seemingly pleased with what he saw, the other looked disgruntled at John and walked over to push him from the room.

John practically slapped the second doctor's hands from the chair and leaned down to talk to Sherlock in a whisper, so only the two of them could hear. "They're making me go now, I'll be back as soon as I'm allowed. Maybe sooner." He smirks ever so slightly. "Just, try and get some more sleep and do as they say. I'll see you soon, Sherlock, love you."

His eyes widen as he realises what he'd just said and he turns a bright shade of red. Suddenly he thinks the doctor can't wheel him away quickly enough.

Sherlock is still asleep and only vaguely notices John's hushed words in his subconscious but one phrase breaks through into his dreams...'love you' The words drifted into his dreams, unmistakably John, and made Sherlock smile in his sleep, how he wished the real John would say something like that to him.


	7. Chapter 7

The doctor wheeled John away into the room next door and set to helping him into bed then hooking him into various machines to test the condition vitals, his blood pressure and whether he was stable. After the tests the doctor connected a new IV with medication to the needle in John's arm. "There..." the doctor said soothingly. "Seems like you're okay, however I don't think your trip to see your friend did you much good, now try get some more sleep."

John felt unbelievably stupid. Yes, he'd said that countless times over the past three years, but the Sherlock he'd been talking to then was _dead_, it wasn't quite the same as letting it slip to a Sherlock who was, miraculously, alive. He sank gratefully into the bed, cooperating with the doctor's tests. "Probably not, was worth it though." He untangled the various tubes and wires now covering him, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

The doctor left John to sleep after completing his tests; John would be fine in time.

Meanwhile in the room next door Sherlock was deeply asleep whilst his doctor took his tests and noting the information once again. More painkilling drugs were put into his system. The doctor finished up and left the room closing the door with a soft thud leaving Sherlock alone.

Sherlock snapped his eyes open at the sound of the door shutting. His fingers were cold, the bed where John's head had laid what seemed only moments ago was cold. Where was John? He panicked, looking around. "John...John... Where are you?... John... You better be okay...John... You better not of had complications and collapsed... I'd never forgive you if you died now... John..." Sherlock's voice was quiet but slowly rising getting more and more strangled. Then he whispered, "John... I love you." All that replied was the sounds of the machines in the empty room. Sherlock shouted. "JOHN!"

John never manages to get to sleep; it's something about the beeps and the low hums of the machines, perhaps it's some sort of professional instinct to stay awake and pay attention. He manages to relax, at least, his breathing slow and deep. He wonders about switching the telly on, or asking for something to read to pass the the time when he hears it, clearly, even through the wall. Sherlock wanted him.

Sherlock sat alone in his room, his voice echoing but fading into nothing. It seemed like forever until a doctor came in to check his vitals again. As soon as the doctor was in reach Sherlock grabbed him with all the strength he could muster, twisting him wrist painfully and snapping out, "Where. Is. John."

The doctor was taken aback, shocked at the strength his patient had, Sherlock was supposed to be almost dead. He shook his head trying to pull away. "Let go I have to check your vitals, your friend is next door." Sherlock's fingers went slack as he flopped back onto the bed again robbed from all his energy... All he wanted was John to stay with him, why hadn't he stayed?

John grits his teeth, checking on the monitor that everything was within normal limits. Fairly confident that he wasn't about to give himself a heart attack, he pushes himself out of bed, disconnecting everything but the IV. He wraps both hands around the drip stand and uses it to help him limp through to Sherlock's room as fast as he could possibly manage, the sound of his name being called ringing in his head.

When John opens Sherlock's door Sherlock stares at the white face, beading with sweat from pushing himself through the short distance. "John..." The doctor turns around from the machines at Sherlock's voice and notices John standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be asleep!" He pushes the call for aid button to summon more doctors and rushes forward to help John suppose his own weight. "This is stupid, you could of pressed the button near your bed and had yourself wheeled in..." The doctor was almost carrying John to the chair next to the door. Sherlock was stricken, shaking at how bad John looked. No, no, no, no, John, no, no, no... was all that was going though his head even though his brain seemed sharp again.

John makes it to the doorway and decides this is a good place to take a rest, catch his breath, try not to vomit or collapse. "S'okay," he breathes. "S'okay, know what I'm doing..." He wants to say that they wouldn't have let him go or that it would've taken too long, but he can't find the breath. Instead he just falls into the chair and slumps. "What d'you want, Sh'lock?" he asks, gasping for breaths in between each syllable.

"John... John... are you okay?" Sherlock is struggling to get up but can't due to the drugs, the wires and the pain shooting though his body. "God John you better be okay... John... John stay awake..."

"I'm awake, fine, promise, calm." John looks meaningfully at Sherlock, repeating himself as he finds the energy to. "Fine, calm down, fine."

The other doctors have arrived by now, two of them go over to restrain Sherlock and two rush forward to John. They take one look at him and haul him back to his room.

Sherlock was frantic as he watch them take John away. One of the doctors placed an oxygen mask over his face and he felt himself slipping. He'd been put under again.

It's not medical prototype but in this situation noting his condition it's for the best, they needed to sedate him and pump more painkillers into his system before his brain was overwhelmed.

He's back in his bed before he knows what's happening and he anticipates what's coming, waving his hands to stop it. "Just need oxygen." He tries to push any drugs away. "Just want oxygen. I've got more experience, listen to me, just oxygen!"

They don't listen to the frantic pleas from John and put him under anyway so they can properly assess the situation without him struggling.

John can feel things getting quieter, dimmer, more distant as he loses all control over the situation. A few seconds later, he's losing consciousness, staring up at the doctors as everything fades away.


	8. Chapter 8

Hours pass and finally Sherlock starts to stir again, his room is empty again, the air is cold, no-one is there.

This time he knows better than to call for his soldier. He knows this time he won't come. Can't come even. Sherlock sits and hates himself for causing John so much pain again... He'd caused enough already... Tears slipped silently down his face as he stared at the wall seeing memories of John smiling in contrast to the memories of the captured sightings of John since the fall. John laughing, John at his grave. John smiling, John sitting alone. John laughing, John limping back to see his therapist... Sherlock was overwhelmed, this was all his fault. He could have done something... anything... to stop this. If only he had been cleverer, if he'd had a better plan. It hurt his chest when John was in pain. He didn't want to be the cause of John's pain, that seemed to make his chest ache infinitely more.

John has completely lost track of time and all he knows when he manages to open his eyes again is that he'd spent the vast majority of his time here in a drug-induced sleep. He listens carefully, in case Sherlock has been shouting again, then shuts his eyes to sleep off the rest of the drugs in his system.

Sherlock collapses back to sleep, tears still steaming down his face and his dreams are filled with only the bad side of his memories.

The next time John wakes up, the nausea's to blame and he just has time to snatch the conveniently placed bowl from the side of his bed. Pure oxygen doesn't have these side effects, he thinks bitterly. There's no way he'll get anybody to agree to letting him return to Sherlock's room, not when he can't even sit himself up without vomiting. As he clutches his head, a brainwave comes to him and he reaches over to his bedside cabinet, rooting through his belongings until he comes to his phone. He taps out a message: "Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you. -JW" and sends it off, hoping Sherlock's phone is near him and switched on.

I'll send Sherlock his phone back then shall I. -MH

As soon as you can. Don't wake him if he's resting though. -JW

Mycroft doesn't reply, he simply slides the phone into an envelope and gives it to Anthea requesting she gets it to Sherlock as soon as possible. About ten minutes later a doctor is walking through Sherlock's door with the envelope and placing it on Sherlock's bedside table. He leaves again after noting the machines say everything is to be as expected.

John watches his phone obsessively. When there's no reply, he assumes that Sherlock is still sleeping and takes that as a good sign.

Sherlock wakes up numb. The emotions he'd always ignored and claimed not to have had fried his brain, his heart felt heavy and the memory of the drifting words in his dream come to the forefront of his mind. He wished for John. How could he get to him? Sherlock looked around, trying to find anything that would help take him to John or bring John to him. He noticed the envelope and ripped it apart. His phone fell on his lap. He looked in the messages:

I'm sorry John, I was going to come back to you after I'd finished Moriarty's web... it was a fake suicide... But I've failed in this case. This time's goodbye for real John. I'm so sorry. Please know that you were loved by me and there is no tragedy in that. HAve a happy life, for me, please. -SH

You're an idiot, Sherlock, a complete tosser of an idiot. -JW

And even though I mean that, they can't be my last words to you so you'd better keep still and not die. -JW

I mean that, don't you dare die. -JW

Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you. -JW

I'll send Sherlock his phone back then shall I. -MH

As soon as you can. Don't wake him if he's resting though. -JW

He quickly added another to the list.

John, I'm fine. Are you okay? You better be okay. -SH

The phone buzzes and John picks it up straight away, audibly sighing with relief.

I'm okay, don't worry. I'll see you soon. -JW

Thinking rationally I'd say the doctors won't let you move until at least tomorrow. -SH

Probably not. Tomorrow's soon though. -JW

Not soon enough. -SH

It'll be sooner if you're a good patient and go to sleep. -JW

I've been asleep since I got here, minus about 20 minutes. I can't sleep for more than two days straight. -SH

You can try. It'll help, I promise. -JW

I don't want to sleep John. -SH

Text me instead then. -JW

I am. John... -SH

What? -JW

I really am sorry. -SH

Don't do it again. -JW

Never. -SH

As long as that's a promise, you're forgiven. -JW

Thank you John, you don't know how much that means. -SH

I know I said it already, but I missed you. -JW

I missed you too John. -SH

Thank you. -JW

Why thank you? That isn't something one is usually thanked for John. -SH

It's not something I expected to hear you say, and I'm glad you did. That's all. -JW

Well, thank you for not dying and for coming back and for not dying again too, I suppose. -JW

You're the reason for all of those, you should be thanking yourself. -SH

I can't do that. -JW

I can and I always will be. -SH

I'm smiling now, just so you know. -JW

I wish I could see you smile again. It's been so long. -SH

Sherlock sent that text before he has time to delete it. He wanted John to know how he felt even if he didn't feel the same, he couldn't hold the feelings inside any more now they'd finally been realised.

I'll smile for you when I see you again. -JW

Could you laugh too? That always makes me feel better, much better than these chemical altering drugs anyway. -SH

Says the ex-addict? That must be the ultimate compliment. I'll laugh if you're getting better, deal? -JW

Sherlock feels a slight blush work its way to his cheeks as he looked at the reply. He'd never thought of it like that, but it was true. He was shocked at the realisation that John was better than the cocaine... the heroin... better than all the drugs he'd ever taken. John had slowly replaced his addiction, he no longer wanted any of those drugs. All he craved for was John. Happy John was a better stimulant to him than anything else he'd ever come across.

I'll get better. -SH

I know you will. I don't take well to my patients dying. -JW

I love you. -SH *text deleted*

I love that you're my doctor. -SH *text deleted*

Please be my doctor forever. -SH *text deleted*

I'm honoured that you think of yourself as my doctor. -SH

Well, somebody has to save you from the NHS. It's my pleasure. -JW

Shouldn't it be save the NHS from me. They'd go bankrupt. -SH

Knowing you, that's true. -JW

I hope you laughed at that. That was a joke. -SH

I know. -JW

Did you laugh then? -SH

Maybe it's a bit too soon to be joking about you hurting yourself. -JW

Okay. -SH

How are you feeling? -SH

Terrible. I'm not sure getting matching bullet wounds was such a good idea. We should go for something less painful, next time. Matching deerstalkers or something. -JW

Or matching horrible jumpers. -SH

You owe me a new jumper, it's covered in blood. -JW

Sherlock didn't reply straight away to that one. His stomach clenched horribly and he felt sick, he was going to vomit. Oh... Never-mind he can't, he hasn't eaten in days. He still felt sick. John's blood. John's lifeline. Spilling out of him. Flashes of John laid on the pavement outside of St. Bart's instead of him. Flashes of a bullet though John's skull. Flashes of John bleeding out in Afghanistan. Sherlock's brain was more than imaginative enough to have such graphic details in these images, it didn't help they were realistic to the very detail. The side effect of being a perfectionist and having dealt with cases where the victims had been killed in such ways.

John began to worry when no reply came through after a while and he listened carefully for signs that anything unto-wards was happening in the room next door. He couldn't hear anything, but then he couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. No nurses or doctors had walked past in a while, maybe he should call one just to make sure. Compared to the alternative - John getting up and making his own way through a second time - they'd probably be quite happy to check (and perhaps if it kept happening, they'd see the reasoning behind letting them share a room). He reached up and pulled the cord to summon help, waiting for somebody to come.


	9. Chapter 9

A doctor was there within the minute. After seeing John didn't seem to be in need of medical treatment she relaxed slightly. "How can I help?"

"Next door, Sherlock, he just stopped replying and would never...not if everything was okay," John babbled, realising he wasn't making much sense and blaming the drugs. "Check he's okay."

"Okay." The doctor walked out and into the room next door, seeing the man there looked stable she glanced at the machines, they read stable too. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine." Sherlock said curtly not looking at her... He could still see the images of John, unmoving.

"It's just the man next-door asked me to check... I guess if you're quite sure you're okay I'll just be going now..." She turned to leave.

"Wait... John... He asked about me?"

"He called the emergency bell for me to check on you. Honestly he wasn't making much sense... something about replying..."

"You can leave now." The doctor left feeling very confused.

I'm fine John. -SH

The doctor entered John's room, "He says he's fine... Looks the same, getting colour back in his cheeks even... Machines read stable. Is that all?"

Sherlock sat waiting for a reply, John had got worried when he hadn't replied at his normal rate... What did that mean?

John's phone buzzed at the same time as the doctor returned, both telling him exactly the same thing. He all but ignored the doctor in favour of frantically tapping out a response to Sherlock.

You'd better be. -JW

He sent the message and nodded dismissively, muttering about his headache and wanting some water.

Sherlock's reply was almost instantaneous.

I am. Stop worrying. -SH

The doctor obliged with the water, "Here you go, sorry can't give you anything for the headache it might interfere with the other drugs in your system... they should combat it eventually, just try to relax."

John drank the water in tiny sips, hoping it would help keep the rest of the food down.

Never. -JW

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to that but he texted back anyway so John wouldn't worry more.

John...-SH

What? It's my job to worry about you. -JW

No. Your job is to get better. -SH

I will get better. I can do both, you know. -JW

Worry is another form of stress, John. Stress lowers the immune system and makes you more prone to illness. -SH

Everyone's a doctor, these days. -JW

You're my biggest concern, okay? I'm going to be fine. -JW

That is the probability not the definite. -SH

I shouldn't be your biggest concern... Not after what I've put you through. -SH

No, Sherlock, that's exactly the reason you're my biggest concern. If you put me through that again... -JW

Try not to concern yourself with me. -SH

Sherlock's heart constricted again, these circumstances to which he'd been able to see John again weren't ideal... neither could they last. He had to get back on the case. He had to find Moran. He had to make sure John was safe again. He had to leave again. Sherlock didn't know if he could and he didn't want John to care because that meant he had a weakness, that they both had a weakness. He couldn't allow for his weakness to put him on the loosing side.

Stop arguing with me. I can't just stop being concerned, and I don't want to either. -JW

I'm sorry. -SH

He couldn't tell John now... it might effect his recovery. But now Sherlock was thinking rationally he had to take steps, prepare John again for his eventual departure.

What for? You're not making sense any more. Go to sleep. -JW

Only if you sleep too. -SH

With pleasure, I'm exhausted. -JW

Sleep well John. -SH

You too. You can text me if you need anything, you know. -JW

I know. Sleep now John. -SH

Sherlock tells John this and it's true, he does know he _could_ text John if he needed anything but he knows he won't. He also doubted he'd be sleeping any time soon, he had to formulate a plan. He had to think. He had to understand everything that had happened. He had to make sense of the madness. Sherlock had to figure out where Moran went.

John smiles at the text, head falling down onto his pillow and his eyes shutting. His phone is clutched in his hand, his grip as firm as it had been earlier when holding Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock scrolled back through John's texts, so full of sentiment and Sherlock could analyse them for hours but he wondered if any of the deductions he made from them would be rational simply because of his bias... He found himself clutching the phone way too tightly, his only connection to John. He'd loathed the idea that he'd have to give it up... or break it completely... or let the connection fade to a one-sided communication.

John hoped for a more normal day tomorrow, a slightly less painful one and one full of clear signs of recovery from the both of them. He knew he wouldn't have any problem sleeping through until morning as long as the doctors did their job properly. It was with that in mind that he let himself sleep, yet again.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock sat up most of the night thinking... thinking about the web hideout near the tracks, how he'd failed to get there and they were all probably gone by now. He'd have to go there for clues anyway. He couldn't trust MI7 for do their jobs right... Moran... Now these memories were a blur, he'd been on the edge of darkness, the edge of unconsciousness... the edge of death... Sherlock shuddered at the memory.

Sherlock didn't know everything that had happened at the tracks, mostly he'd been unconscious but from what he could piece together Moran had been injured too, maybe that would give them some time... He wished for more time, a few more days with John... No mustn't think of John it'll make it impossible to leave again... Moran, he's a danger he's the head of the web now, he needs to be taken down. He's doing this out of revenge, he'll slip up. Moran's not as clever as Moriarty was...

Hours passed like this with Sherlock deep in thought, struggling to keep his mind away from John to stop the guilt and the pangs of pain shooting though him worse than the bullet wound...

The nightmares that punctuated John's sleep that night were horrible. He woke through the night at images of Sherlock falling, Sherlock bleeding, Sherlock dying - it wouldn't leave him alone. Unlike the dreams that had plagued him before, these ones didn't leave him lying awake for hours, covered in an icy film of sweat. John knew Sherlock was safe now, just the other side of the wall. Each time he woke up, he just had to look at his phone inbox to be instantly calmed and sleep would come again within a few minutes.

Sherlock spent most of the night thinking but every now and then he'd hear sounds next door like John was in pain, every time he hear one he got the urge to text John to make sure he was okay but stopped himself. He knew John had nightmares often now. He knew John didn't always wake up from them. Sherlock wanted John to rest, to continue to sleep so sat alone in the dark and worried about the pain he'd caused.

In the morning, John awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, given all the circumstances. The first thing on his mind was to go and see Sherlock, but he knew that would likely not be allowed until he'd been checked over and he'd eaten some breakfast. Instead, he reached for his phone to send a text, only to find several unread messages sitting in his inbox. Most were from Harry, but there were also ones from Greg and Mrs Hudson. None of them mentioned Sherlock, leading John to believe that even though they'd clearly heard he'd been shot, they weren't aware of the truth about the detective. John decided he wasn't ready for them to know just yet - he wanted Sherlock to himself for a little bit longer. With that in mind, he ignored them all and tapped out a text.

Did you sleep alright? -JW

Irrelevant, did you? -SH

Not irrelevant. You should've asked for something to help you. You won't get better this way. -JW

Why do you think I didn't sleep? Good deduction though... Were the nightmares bad? -SH

You'd have just answered the question if you had slept. -JW

I haven't slept well for years before I even met you I don't see why that would change now. -SH

Ask for something to help you then. -JW

No John. Anyway you didn't answer my questions. -SH

Not bad, no. -JW

Worse than bad? -SH

No, just different. -JW

I'm glad they weren't worse at least that's a minor comfort. Will you come visit me today? -SH

Of course, as soon as they let me. -JW

Good. It feels wrong having you so close and not being able to see you. -SH *text deleted*

Good. I hope you have a nice breakfast. -SH

You too. Try and eat something. -JW

Not sure my stomach can handle it, they've got vitamin supplement in my IV too so don't worry. -SH

Maybe tomorrow then. -JW

No... No... I'll try eat something today, now, if you want. It's just that I doubt it will stay down. -SH

No point if it'll just make you sick. -JW

Is your leg healing? -SH

It doesn't just happen overnight, Sherlock. -JW

I know but you might be able to gauge if it's healed the slightest... -SH

From what I've seen it'll probably be completely back to normal in about four weeks, with physio. -JW

Four weeks? Get better sooner. -SH

This wasn't soon enough for Sherlock, he wanted John to get better. He didn't care that he'd have to wait the same amount of time, probably more, to get better himself. Actually he was happy he wouldn't get better fast, he'd have to leave once he was better and that was almost unbearable. He wanted to stay injured and have John healed, he'd rather have taken both the shots...

For full recovery, yes. If I start physio in the next few days, I'm hoping I'll be able to weight-bear by the end of next week. Don't worry yourself with me, just concentrate on your own recovery. -JW

I'd rather worry about you thanks. -SH

Are you going to be this stubborn all the time? -JW

Am I more stubborn than normal? -SH

I'm not answering that. Just be a good patient and do what you have to do to get better. -JW

Okay. -SH

That gave Sherlock the idea to be a bad patient so he wouldn't heal as quickly... If he did that he'd get to stay longer.

At that moment a doctor and the cook came into John's room. The cook simply placed a tray with breakfast over John's lap and left while the doctor asked "Feeling any better this morning? You look much better."

"I feel great," John said, with a little bit of over-exaggerated brightness. "Can I go and sit with Sherlock?" he asked in the same breath. He began spreading jam over one of the slices of toast, showing how willing he was to eat something.

The doctor smiled faintly, "I was told you'd say that. I've also been told to strongly impress upon you that if you go anywhere not permitted again you'll be denied assess to the room next door and guarded by the security so you don't endanger your health again."

The doctor gave John an amused sort of smile. "Sounds a bit over the top to me... and yes you are allowed to go sit with him, once you've finished breakfast and had a check up that is."

"This isn't a prison!" John argued, pulling a face. "I don't need permission, I could just discharge myself if I wanted, you know. I'm fine." He gestured to his leg to reiterate his point, toast flying out of his hand as he did so. With a rising blush, he rubbed the jam off of the bed covers and quickly finished his breakfast. "Let's get on with this then."

"I know it's not prison, it's not even my idea don't have a go at me I think it's absolute horsesh- *ahem* I think it's absolutely stupid. But orders are orders... and I doubt you'd be allowed to discharge yourself, or at least if you did you'd be taken to private medical care or something crazy like that... Yes, eat your breakfast first." The doctor readys the machines on standby while he waits for John to eat his breakfast.

Another slice of toast, half a bowl of cereal and a yoghurt get washed down by a glass of orange juice as John makes every attempt to prove to the doctor that he definitely is getting better.

John, are you okay? -SH

In the other room Sherlock is getting panicked because John hasn't replied.

The doctor smiles at John again, "Let's take theses tests shall we? We'll have to back with your boyfriend in now time..." The doctor took John's phone and the tray and put it on the table before hooking John up to take his blood pressure and other various tests.

"Oh, he's not my boy-" John trails off, looking over at his phone buzzing on the other side of the room. He opens his mouth to ask the doctor to pass it over, then closes it again. Being unable to stay away from his text connection to Sherlock would only convince the doctor further that they were romantically involved. He'll be going through to his friend's room soon anyway, whatever it was could wait the few minutes it would take for these observations to be completed.

The doctor ran the tests for several minutes, meanwhile Sherlock was getting more and more frantic.

John, seriously are you okay? -SH

John, answer me.-SH

John. Don't make me walk in there. -SH

Now the doctor had finished the tests he turned to go get a wheel chair, "I'll be back in just a moment." He smiled at John again.

John leafed through his own notes, reading the report from surgery while he waited for the doctor to come back. He frowned as he heard his phone buzz a third and fourth time, but there was no way he could reach it without causing any pain so he just sat tight, hoping his wheelchair would arrive soon.

John I'm being deadly serious. Answer me. -SH

Right now John. -SH

Okay, I'm coming. -SH


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock was struggling against the machines he was hooked up to, ripping them out one by one. He had to get to John. John had to be okay.

The doctor came back into John's room, "Here we are then, we've been instructed to keep you hooked up to medication today but that shouldn't be a problem... ready?" The doctor manoeuvred the wheelchair next to the bed.

Carefully, John lowered himself into the chair, feeling a little bit stiff from lying so still all night. It took him a few seconds to get past the pain brought on by changing positions but after some deep breaths, he looks up and nods at the doctor. "Ready. Mind passing me my phone first? It's not stopped ringing since I woke up."

"Ah, someone cares about you..." The doctor chuckles as he passes John his phone then sets to making sure the medication is still connected properly.

John looked at the message on the home screen that read 7 new messages. He rolled his eyes and started to scroll through them:

John, are you okay? -SH

John, seriously are you okay? -SH

John, answer me. -SH

John. Don't make me walk in there. -SH

It was that message that wiped the amused grin off of John's face and started the panic growing. Hadn't he learned from John's attempt at the very same thing yesterday that no good would come from that?

John I'm being deadly serious. Answer me. -SH

Right now John. -SH

Okay, I'm coming. -SH

"Shit," he said, replying as quickly as he could, shouting at the doctor at the same time. "Sherlock's out of bed, go and sort it. I can make sure my medication's all alright myself."

Get back in bed, you idiot. NOW. -JW

Sherlock didn't hear his phone over the wildly beeping machines.

The doctor looked started at John, "What? Is he an idiot?" He shook his head and walked out of the room to check on Sherlock, when he got into Sherlock's room he found Sherlock had succeeded in pulling out all the tubes and wires and was shuffling along his bed, bracing himself again the pain, eyes swimming in tears which threatened to spill over. "Lie down now."

"Nooo...nooo... I've got to go see John..."

"I was just bringing him to you. Lie. Down." The doctor retrained Sherlock but Sherlock kept struggling.

"Why isn't he here then?"

"Because he told me to get in here. Stop it, you're going to hurt yourself more. I'm not bringing him in till you've got all these plugged back in. Lie. DOWN."

The doctor pushed the call for aid button, Sherlock wouldn't stop struggling against him. Soon there were two more doctors restraining Sherlock, moving him back into bed properly and tying him down. Sherlock gave in and the tears spilled over, he was only thinking of John. "Sorry..." The doctor muttered thinking it was the pain of the movement that had him in tears and hurriedly attached the machines again so the painkillers could get back into Sherlock's system. Sherlock couldn't feel the pain in his leg through his want to see John. The doctors put him under after seeing blood smearing his bandages.

John could hear the struggle from Sherlock's room and he quickly finished the job his doctor had started. His medication was all fine, the doses were correct and it was all flowing steadily into his bloodstream through the cannula in the back of his hand. Given his constant supply of pain relief and his vastly improved physical state, John made the decision to push himself through to Sherlock's room in hopes that perhaps he might be able to calm the detective down. To his horror, when he arrived through the door things were worse than he'd imagined from the sounds he'd been able to hear and his heart sunk at the sight before him.

The doctors set to unwrapping the bandages, noting that Sherlock had ripped his stitches and the glue had come unstuck. He was rapidly loosing the small amount of blood he'd regained again. They were at work in a flash grabbing the medical kit to go through emergency procedure to stitch him back together. They didn't notice John in the doorway.

John watched from his chair as the doctors performed the same procedure on Sherlock that he'd performed on countless people in Afghanistan. His fingers itched, he couldn't just sit here and watch while they all struggled between them. He waited for the right moment, then cleared his throat. "Need any help?" he asked. Even if he was just passing equipment or taking observations, he felt like he had to do something.

"No...no... We've got this. Might be best if you went back to your room..." One of the doctors said without looking around from the procedure.

John ignored the doctor, having no intentions of returning to his room. He moved to where he could see exactly what was going on, without being in their way and applied the brakes to the wheelchair.

Sherlock was stirring in the drug-induced sleep... "John..." his mumblings were barely audible, he was twitching he body reacting to the pain even through the drugs. The doctors kept working furiously, they'd managed to reattach the skin so it was together again and were applying the last layers of surgical glue on top of the stitches as an extra precaution. "John..."

John watched intently, comparing everything he saw to anything he'd ever learned as a doctor. This was Sherlock, it was important that everybody made sure his treatment went as smoothly as possible. "It's okay, Sherlock, it's okay," he repeated, moving into one of the spaces next to his bed. He rested a hand on his cheek, stroking slowly, soothingly. "It's okay." He turned to the doctors. "Can I suggest moderate sedation?" he asked. "The risks are justified here, he's not going to make it easy for you." John frowned at having to consider this, he knew Sherlock probably wouldn't be pleased but it was for his own good.

The doctors agreed and one hurried off to find an injection to sedate Sherlock, he handed it to John, "You know where you inject it." was all he said before helping with the task of finishing off, cleaning, bandaging the wound and fixing any complications.

Being given a task to do stopped the panic dead in John and he focused on what he needed to do. He tied the tourniquet around Sherlock's arm, rubbing gently until he found a vein in good enough condition to inject into. "There'll be a sharp scratch in a second," he warned, then injected the sedative and released the tourniquet. "Alright, we're done."

Sherlock slipped into darkness to the sound of John's voice and the doctors continues to work trying to hold in as much blood as possible. "Good, thanks... We're going to need to get him another blood transfusion he's lost too much of the little he'd recovered..." One of the doctors left to acquire some blood to give Sherlock and left the others to bandage Sherlock's leg tightly. They were done by the time the doctor returned passing it to the lead doctor solemnly.

John moved his hand back up to Sherlock's cheek once the needle had been withdrawn. "Sherlock, come on, try and stay with us," he encouraged. "The sedative I just gave you will make you really sleepy, I know, just let it relax you."

Sherlock was unconscious before he even heard John's words. The doctors set to transfusing the blood into Sherlock, hoping that it would sustain him enough. One of the doctors left feeling shaken because there was little else they could help with. An other checked the machines again trying not to get in the way of the one doing the transfusion. She decided to speak you John. "You know there isn't much more that we can do. Once he's got the blood we can only wait to see if he wakes up."

John nodded. Of course he understood what was happening, what the chances were but, like with any of his patients, he had to remain optimistic. "He'll wake up," he said confidently. "Put him on supplemental oxygen, about ten litres per minute, and monitor him closely for the next few hours before you make any decisions about what to do next." His words were professional, but below the surface John was terrified.

"I'll do that." The doctor nodded at him and set to work. Soon they were both finished and after rechecking everything decided to leave John alone with Sherlock, he was a doctor after all and he'd call them if there were any complications.

"They'd better be paying me for this, I'm doing all their work," John joked to an unconscious Sherlock Holmes. He felt horrendously guilty, knowing all of this would've been avoided if he'd just kept hold of his phone and answered the text. It was too late to change anything now though, so it was more important he concentrated on what he could do to help Sherlock get over this. He kept his hand on Sherlock's cheek the whole time, except for when he had to move to check or adjust something.


	12. Chapter 12

The seconds passed making minutes which eventually made hours, the sedatives should of worn off by now. Doctors popped their heads round the door but didn't speak as they saw there was no change, they hurried on with their tasks leaving John alone.

John watched every minute tick by on the clock, filling in observations on Sherlock's chart every quarter of an hour. "Wake up any time now, Sherlock, that'd be great," he whispered. His whispers turned to pleas in no time at all. "Come on, open those eyes, it's time to wake up." With a frown, he turned away and composed himself, then turned around again to take his pulse. Maybe bargaining with him would work. "If you don't wake up soon I'm going to have to call your brother," he threatened, watching hopefully.

There was no response from Sherlock.

John scrolled through his phone until he found Mycroft's number, sending a quick message.

I think you should come back to the hospital as soon as possible. -JW

He pressed send, thinking bitterly of all the times in the past where he'd had to contact a patient's next of kin.

Why John? I know Sherlock is unconscious again. My presence won't help the situation. -MH

John is taken aback by the reply.

Because you're his brother and you're supposed to care. -JW

I worry about him constantly John. I'm tracking Moran remember? -MH

John throws his phone to the side, not even replying to that. He's going stir crazy trapped in this room, nothing to listen to except the beeping of machines and nothing to look at apart from Sherlock's impossibly pale face and other signs of deterioration. He needs some sort of company, somebody else to provide the optimism because he's struggling now.

Sherlock in is darkness, he's falling through darkness. He's falling but he can't see he can only feel it. Whistling rushing pass his ears, voices in the black. One voice that calls to him louder then any other, "SHERLOCK!" It screams over and over. It's a stuck record, on repeat: the same intonation every time. He vaguely places it, it's John's voice. John's voice. Everything clicks into place, he blinks and see the pavement coming. He blinks and he's alone on the tracks. So alone, always alone. Never had a friend before and never to have a friend again. Dying alone. No-one to save him. No-one wants to save him. Sherlock's face twitches at his nightmare. In his brain he's screaming for John and only silence replies to his pleas.

John pushed the chair back from the bed until Sherlock was out of arms reach, then dropped his face into his hands and definitely, absolutely did not cry. He had to stay composed, look at the situation objectively and do whatever he'd do if this were anybody but Sherlock. Carefully he stood up, balancing all his weight on his good leg, and reached over for the empty transfusion bag, detaching it from Sherlock and placing a small plaster over the entry site. The next time he looks up at Sherlock's face, he allows his hopes to grow upon seeing the small amount of movement, but they're quickly dashed again when he sees the twitching is accompanied by a rapid pulse. Sighing sadly, John just increases the oxygen flow to try and calm him down a bit and adjusts the mask on his face. His hands move from the mask, smoothing over Sherlock's cheeks and hair and jawline and then, without thinking, he leans down and kisses the other man's forehead. "I love you, please get better."

The darkness breaks in Sherlock's head, now everything is white and hot. He feels his face burning, fire along his cheeks and jawline, lava burning through his forehead burning deep into his brain and deep into his heart. Everything's on fire, he's drowning in the flames which seem so perfectly painful as they wrap around his chest binding him, holding him. He's still screaming for John, but this time John's voice replies, "I love you, please get better." Sherlock breaks, knowing this is a dream suddenly and then he's falling again endlessly but he can see the ground. He wants it to stop, he's full of fear, he doesn't want to fall any more... He turns around mid air and sees John just out of his reach above him, he reaches for him anyway, straining against the fall, against his own body... "please just another few inches please let him be able to save me... please..." Sherlock's hand stretches out along the hospital bed as he sleeps, reaching towards nothingness.

When John's brain catches up with his actions, he surprises himself by how little embarrassment he feels. Sherlock was unconscious and more than likely hadn't been aware of them anyway. If, on the off chance, the words had been heard then John still didn't mind because that meant his best friend was getting ever so slightly better. At the back of his mind, behind his worry, John wonders how much longer he can keep this up for before he'll have to ask one of the other doctors to take over. He considers asking to go for a rest so he can come back later, refreshed and ready to look after Sherlock again, but then he sees a hand move and he knows he's not going anywhere yet. He catches the hand, squeezes it tightly and holds it in his firm grip. "It's alright, Sherlock, I'm here."

Suddenly the inches between Sherlock's outstretched hand and John disappear, the grip is firm and solid almost real. He feels the warming touch pull him dizzily upwards, spinning gut wrenchingly towards John's face, colours blur before him and pain and nausea fill him up. Sherlock blinks opening his eyes for a split second then clenching them shut again against the physical onslaught.

Keeping Sherlock's hand held firmly in his, John can't help the smile as soon as he sees those eyes open. It's wonderful, and had he had less experience than he does, it would be easy to get caught up and forget that Sherlock wasn't quite out of the woods yet. John knows that this is more than a one-man job though, and he quickly leans over to hit the emergency call button for assistance - somebody who can bring more pain relief, more anti-sickness drugs, anything.

In amongst the pain Sherlock can feel the warmth in his hand still, he squeezes tightly against it trying to determine if it's really there or just the remembrance from the dream, it's real. Sherlock can't help but feel the relief wash through him the John is really truly there. A small smile flashes an appearance on his face before quickly turning into a grimace, the pain was almost unbearable and he screwed his face up against it, holding onto John's hand like his only lifeline.


	13. Chapter 13

"I've called a doctor, Sherlock, we're going to get you some medicine. Try and hang on, they'll be here soon." John's words started off professional but the longer he had to wait for a doctor to arrive, the more and more personal things started to get. "I know you can do it, oh God, I'm so happy you're awake. I was really worried and I don't know what I'd do if-"

A doctor appeared on hearing the call button and quickly rushed forward to help questioning John as to what was going on.

John cleared his throat and turned to the doctor. "He's regaining consciousness, what steps were you thinking of taking next? Obviously, he needs better pain management to begin with."

"I'll set him off on some painkillers and take some tests to see if there is anything else we can do." The doctor replied just as Sherlock whimpered gripping even tighter to John's hand trying to be brave for John and bare through the mind-numbing pain. The doctor set to work quickly adjusting the medication.

"Just up the dose of the immediate release ones, the last thing we want is him getting drowsy again," John says, even though he's sure the doctor is perfectly competent and knows all this already. "Can we get some gas and air to give him as well?"

The doctor nodded, "Yeah I've already done that and I'll go get some gas and air now..." He rushed away. Sherlock was still squeezing John's hand but he lessened the grip slightly as he was comforted by the sound of John's voice, his doctor voice, professional and taking care of him.

Sherlock knew he was in the best hands possible, he wanted to thank him, say anything but when he opened his mouth he couldn't speak. He tried again and failed. Clenching his teeth together he opened his eyes, light bursting before him, searching, searching his blurred vision till he caught a glimpse of John. He hoped, yet again, his eyes could convey everything... The doctor returned, quickly administering the gas and air.

"That's it, just squeeze my hand. The painkillers will start working soon, really soon, okay? Keep sucking on the gas and air too. It might make you feel a little bit drunk but it really works, just take nice deep breaths." John smiled faintly back at Sherlock, hoping that he was being somewhat reassuring and that the pain would lessen soon.

Sherlock did as John said and slowly the pain lessened as he gradually became more and more light-headed. John made everything feel better like it was going to be all fine again soon. He wanted to sob knowing this wasn't true, that the moment it was all fine; nothing would be fine for a long, long time. Sherlock let out a hysterical giggle quickly muffled as he tried not to sob.

Something inside of John relaxed as Sherlock's pain visibly improved. He let out a long breath. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Again." He watched the effects of the gas and air on Sherlock, putting the giggles and the cries down to normal side effects, leaving the detective to it. As long as the pain was bearable, John didn't want to question anything.

The doctor handed the gas and air over to John and began running tests and checking the machines, Sherlock still had very low blood pressure... too low. "Low blood pressure due to lack of blood...Any suggestions? We can't really give him another transfusion."

John held the mouthpiece for the gas and air by Sherlock's lips so he could sip some more whenever he felt the need to. He was frowning at the blood pressure before the doctor even said anything and had opened his mouth to answer the question before it had even been asked. "A stronger saline solution might help thicken the blood," he suggests. "At the very least it should stabilise him for a few more hours and if there's no difference we can try IV plasma."

The doctor went though with John's suggestions and stood back feeling awkwardly like there was nothing else he could do but wasn't sure if he should leave or not yet. Sherlock was shaking his brain felt sluggish and ached dreadfully, the light-headedness was making him feel faint but he kept his grasp on reality by staring at John, not cataloguing, not thinking, not observing, just simply looking.

John pulled an extra blanket up over Sherlock, smoothing it out and tucking it in. "Is there anything you want?" he asked quietly. Not wanting to turn away from Sherlock for too long, he briefly glanced back at the doctor. "I'm going to stay here from now on. Don't argue, it's clearly better for everybody. If you get me something comfier than this chair to rest on, I'd be grateful."

"I... uh... It's not up to me to decide if you can stay indefinitely... But you can stay for the rest of the day at least, what do you suggest? I could possibly get a gurney, that might be more comfortable for you if you could lay down?"

John relaxed at the suggestion. "That would be much better, thank you." His attention was immediately back on Sherlock once he had the doctor's agreement to stay, at least for the time being. "Do you promise not to do anything stupid again if I stay here? No getting up and going for walks again?"

The doctor left to find a spare gurney from somewhere in the hospital. Sherlock was still staring at John, still couldn't make himself speak. His mouth was dry from seeing John this worried about him so he nodded into the promise instead and instantly regretted it as his head spun wildly and his vision blurred again.

Relieved that there was no immediate danger, even if things in the long-term looked a little worrying still, John picked up where he'd left off yesterday with his stories. He told Sherlock all about his failed dates and his weekend in Wales and that one time Lestrade came to him for help with a case. It was all boring stuff and it was making his voice hoarse, but he needed to keep talking to give Sherlock something to focus on.

Sherlock focused on the sound of John's voice letting it ring through him telling him John was okay, John was getting better... He caught snippets of the conversation but he doubted his mind would hold the information in this state. He tried to speak but could only make a croaking noise then smiled apologetically at John... His mouth was still too dry and his brain didn't have full control in its muddled state. He closed his eyes again letting the heat from John's hand and the sound of John's voice become his reality.


	14. Chapter 14

John poured some water from a jug on the side onto a towel then used it to dampen Sherlock's lips slightly. "I can't give you anything to drink orally but you can suck the moisture out of this if your mouth is too dry." Hopefully the doctor would show up with the gurney soon and he'd be in a better position to do all of this for Sherlock, while getting some rest himself.

Sherlock sucked thankfully at the towel, still to weak to get much moisture out of it in one go but it helped and after a few minutes his mouth felt like normal again. "Thanks..." his voice was still a bit croaky but at least now he could talk. Sherlock hoped his head would clear soon he hated the dizzy disconnected feeling he had. Sherlock squeezed John's hand again, he really was glad John was there.

"Are you comfortable? Do you want another blanket?" John asked, not bothered that his mother-henning might be coming across as slightly too fussy. He was worried, and he liked taking care of Sherlock.

"As comfortable as I'm going to get... No, no I feel..." Sherlock glanced at their connected hands and his lips twitched a bit, "warm." His gaze into John's eyes got evermore intense and at that moment the doctor returned pushing a gurney. Sherlock jumped then flinched at the pain he caused himself.

"Managed to get one... sorry it took so long took a while to track down... Everything okay?" He noted Sherlock looked more alert.

John's chest tightened and it took a second for him to realise that it was because Sherlock was looking at him that way. His cheeks reddened and he smiled, his own eyes moving down to their hands. Seconds later, he muttered an apology to Sherlock and untangled their fingers, reaching for the gas and air in preparation for transferring onto the gurney. The movement jarred his leg but a few gasps of gas and air helped quickly.

Sherlock noted John's blush then the sudden release of his hand. It was like having his lifeline taken away, his heart felt like it had been stabbed and his eyes went wide for a millisecond. Had John just come to his senses an become uncomfortable? He didn't want to think that. He watched, carefully noting anything off as John was moved onto the gurney and settled down then continued to watch for anything... any sign from John that would give him a clue was to what John was thinking.

John hung the mouthpiece back up, taking deep breaths of plain air until his own light-headedness passed. After moving the sides down, he felt for Sherlock's hand again and wrapped his fingers around it. "This is better, don't you think?" he asked, shuffling right up to the edge of the gurney until he was almost lying on Sherlock's bed with him.

"Ahem..." The doctor cleared his throat, "Anything else... or? I'll just leave... Call if you do need anything else." The doctor turned around and walked out the room feeling he'd intruded on something private.

John waved the doctor away. "We're alright, fine," he assured him, trying to act like their behavior was nothing unusual for friends.

Sherlock waited until the doctor was gone until replying, "Yes, much better." He squeezed again staring at their interlocking hands he'd hate it when he had to let go again. "Are you feeling better John?"

"This is nice," he said, motioning between the two of them. "I feel a lot better now I'm with you."

"Is your leg feeling any better though John?" Sherlock desperately wanted the answer to be yes. He knew it was illogical to think John would heal so quickly but the still hoped and wished for it.

John looked thoughtfully at his leg, as though that would somehow change the answer he was able to give. While he didn't want to lie to Sherlock, he didn't want to worry him unnecessarily either. "Well, you should probably be concentrating on getting your own leg better. I can deal with this thing myself." It was a typical doctor's answer, avoiding the question almost entirely..

"John I know when you're avoiding answers and it doesn't help the situation you keeping things from me because I'll worry more about trying to figure out what you're keeping from me, which at the moment being in a less rational mindset then usual my thoughts have turned to it's not getting better or it getting worse. Don't lie to me John just tell me how you're feeling." Sherlock was irritated by John's aversion to answering the question simply.

"Well, we know you're feeling a bit better at least." John rolled his eyes at how...vocal Sherlock had suddenly gotten, but inside he couldn't be happier. "Good to see you acting more like yourself." John flexed and extended his leg ever so slightly, pushing it that bit further than was comfortable just to reassure Sherlock. "Look, I can move it now at least. It's not perfect but it's exactly what we can expect so soon afterwards."

Sherlock smiled weakly, "Just hurry up and get better okay?" He turned his head away to look at the wall, unseeing. He knew John was pushing himself and he wished he wouldn't he wished he'd just relax and get better at a normal rate...

"Your turn. How are you feeling now, while you're actually awake for me to talk to?" John asked. When Sherlock turned away, he frowned. "Don't get in a mood with me, Sherlock. What's wrong?"

"We have identical injures yet you're the one up and out of your room, you're looking after me while you're in the same state. You should be looking after yourself. You shouldn't care about me until you're better. Looking after me will only put more stress on you and while I'm glad you're here I find it hard to think it won't have a detrimental effect on your health. That's what's wrong and I'm feeling... anxious about it." Sherlock still wasn't looking at John, he felt too hot all of a sudden.

John found the room uncomfortably quiet suddenly and he cleared his throat just so there was some sound other than the machines. "Identical injuries, except I was in hospital within twenty minutes and you...well, you weren't." It made him feel uneasy that Sherlock wasn't looking at him - he wanted to see his reactions to try and work out when it would be a good idea to just shut up. "I'm not saying my leg doesn't hurt, it does, and I'm on the maximum dose of painkillers. But I didn't need transfusions like you, I didn't rip my stitches open like you and my observations are all fine. Being here looking after you is not slowing down my recovery at all, it's just taking my mind off the pain and putting my mind at ease so just let me be your doctor."

Sherlock gave in, he could see the truth in John's words even if he didn't want to admit it. Even though, his chest still felt constricted by barbedwire when John confirmed what Sherlock already knew: John was in pain and there was nothing he could do because he was already on the maximum strength dose. Sherlock couldn't help John so he decided to try and at least keep his mood under-check and act acceptable

"You are the best doctor after all." Sherlock said turning to smile at John.

"Probably not the best doctor," John reasoned. "But I am a good one." He smiled back at Sherlock. "So, answer my question. How are you feeling now?" He needed an honest answer, and he hoped Sherlock wouldn't just dismiss him.

"I'm sure you're the best, any other doctor with near your skill is so insufferable... and what makes you the best is you're _my _doctor." Sherlock felt slightly embarrassed saying that but pressed on not letting it bother him, "I told you how I'm feeling I'm feeling anxious... worried. Or were you inferring to my physical state? I'm sure you can deduce that better than me since you're a doctor."

John felt as if everything had been shaken up, in the best kind of way. "Your doctor? I suppose I am, yeah." He rubbed at his blushing face awkwardly, lips curling up into a smile. "Okay, well, calm down," he said, realising immediately how rubbish that advice was. "Or just let me..." he trailed off, just moving his hands to run through what little was left of Sherlock's hair, gently massaging his scalp with his fingertips.

"John, what are you-?" Sherlock broke off mid-sentence as he felt John's hand in his hair, it was so comforting... relaxing... he almost melted into the touch. No, no, no, no... this can't be good, he thought, why is his blush and touch so... exhilarating... Sherlock moved away heart beating fast, a blush spreading to his cheeks too as he looked at the wall again. "How long have we got?"

"Shh, just relax," John whispered, still moving his fingers gently. "Feeling any calmer yet?" The action was soothing for John too and he quickly became pre-occupied by massaging Sherlock's scalp, so much so he didn't hear the question at first. "Hmm? Oh, until I have to go? I'm staying here, I don't care what they say."

Sherlock stroked the back of John's hand, "I'm glad to hear that," his voice was rough and he paused for a moment enjoying the hand on his head, "But that wasn't what I meant... I meant... How long have we got in the hospital? Approximately that is." Sherlock held his breath waiting for his answer, waiting for his death sentence as his heart beat furiously.

John's hands stilled as he thought for an answer. "Maybe a week for me, ten days for you. As long as we don't have a repeat of this morning. Of course, there'll be follow-up appointments and everything but we'll be well enough to go home by then. Mind you, it all depends how your brother is getting on. It wouldn't surprise me if he makes them keep us here until MI7 have finished the job."

"John... Moran is clever, maybe not as clever as Moriarty but he'll be in hiding I doubt they'll even find trace of him before we're out of here because he'll be healing at about the same rate... right? Shoulder wound though so does that effect it? Nevermind, but my point is Mycroft won't keep us here till they've finished the job that could take months...years, even." Sherlock frowned then thought for a moment and continued speaking in a softer tone, "Will you still visit me once you're healed and can go home...?"

"I didn't get chance to see where it hit before he shot me. If I hit where I was aiming then he'll have needed surgery to reconstruct all the tendons. It's possible there'll be permanent damage too if the rotator cuff tore. Given the fact he ran off before the paramedics arrived, there'll be some pretty heavy blood loss too." John had wondered more than once now whether he'd have been better off just aiming for the chest or the head, somewhere that would've been fatal. "Do you think I should've killed him?" he asked, grateful for the change of subject. "Of course I'll visit you, they won't be able to get me to leave."

"No John and it doesn't matter now anyway..." Sherlock perked up a bit, "So you'll stay in hospital with me till I'm better even if you can go home?" Sherlock leaned in a bit closer to John, hoping John would say yes that he wouldn't leave...ever. But he knew that as just another irrational thought, still he gazed into John's eyes waiting...

"If that's what you want," John agreed. He'd spent too many nights alone in their flat in Baker Street in the past three years. Even though now was different, because he knew Sherlock was alive and well, he still wasn't keen to go back to an empty flat any more times.

Sherlock beamed at John and wanted more than anything to kiss him right there and then but he held back knowing that would make his eventual departure worse for the both of them. He slumped down suddenly exhausted, "Thank you John." He closed his eyes but kept a firm grip on John's hand, "I'm tired John..."

"Then go to sleep, I'll still be here." John passed Sherlock the controls to the bed. "Just make yourself comfortable and sleep. Maybe this afternoon you can have a tiny bit to eat? Perhaps some visitors too?"

Sherlock nodded not committing to anything and tried to get comfy, it was pretty much an impossible task so he just tried to relax and let himself slip off to sleep... He was asleep within a few minutes.

Once Sherlock was asleep, John relaxed his grip on his hand but didn't move it away entirely. He didn't want him to wake up alarmed, or worry that he'd left again. Ten minutes or so passed where John just watched Sherlock, before he decided to try and get some sleep himself.

Sherlock is falling in his dreams again, except this time the air is warm and it felt more like he was flying, swimming through the thick air than tumbling to his doom. He relaxed and spread his arms enjoying the feeling. The air got cooler and he sped up; no longer flying but not quite falling, he was suspended in space. Waiting as colours flashed before his eyes making no shapes but blurring together. Sherlock slept a long time in this suspended dream continually waiting for something to happen.

It wasn't long before John drifted off to sleep himself, enjoying a pleasant, dreamless afternoon nap. Had he been awake, what happened next would no doubt have horrified him. However, somewhere in the depths of his subconscious he'd clearly decided it was a good idea to roll over, off of the gurney and onto Sherlock's bed, one arm thrown over the sleeping detective's waist.

In Sherlock's suspending dream he was flooded with warmth. He smiled in his sleep.

For the next few hours when the doctors checked on them they tried their very bests to be quiet and quick, smiling at the two sleeping forms. When everything seemed to be fine they left without waking them.


	15. Chapter 15

A few hours later Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and was shocked to find John's head so close to him, he stayed still his heart filling with joy and breaking at the same time. The warmth he'd felt in his dreams keeping the nightmares away had been John. Of course... it had always been John. Sherlock moved his hand to wrap it over John's waist too and watched him while he slept... cataloguing how relaxed and how blissful John looked when he was asleep. He wished that look would stay on his face always. Sherlock wanted to keep the picture in his head but he doubted even his memory could capture this perfection so he slipped out his phone and took a photo quickly before returning to watching John.

John began to stir when he became aware of movement from his left. Still half-asleep (and with no intentions of waking properly any time soon), John just pulled Sherlock's blanket towards him and settled down again. By the time his thoughts eventually reached the "hang on, where did this blanket come from?" stage, he'd shuffled closer still towards the warmth. His brain completed the deduction without his permission and he was both mortified and thrilled with himself for ending up so close to Sherlock. He didn't know whether the other man's thoughts were similar to his own though, so he continued to feign sleep for a little longer.

Sherlock noted the little movements of John stirring, moving closer to him, and smiled. John's subconscious obviously wanted John to be closer to Sherlock, it was a nice thought to play with the idea of even if it wasn't true when John was awake. Sherlock felt John's pulse raise wondering if he was having a nightmare but Sherlock realised he was awake from the slight change in his breathing... But Sherlock couldn't quite make himself move or say anything to let John know he knew. He enjoyed the closeness and if John knew he knew he was awake he'd move away.

John soon found that his position, however comfortable and warm he was, couldn't be kept up forever. His leg was starting to cramp and he was getting too hot. He was torn over moving away and then pretending to wake up or opening his eyes lying right where he was. The latter ultimately won out; he was a _soldier_ for goodness' sake, he wasn't ever going to admit to being scared over something as simple as this. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking up at Sherlock as he stretched out.

Sherlock was looking at him and made eye-contact when John opened his eyes. He smiled some more, "Sleep well?"

"Very well," he answered, hugely relieved that Sherlock wasn't objecting at all to how they were laid. "How long have you been awake?" He hoped that it hadn't been too long, he didn't want his cover to be blown.

"A while." Sherlock replied trying to repress a grin. "Any dreams?"

John felt his face heat up at that news and he knew he couldn't move fast enough to hide it from Sherlock so he stayed where he was. "You didn't mind...this?"

"Not at all, I find it quite comforting actually, funny really..." Sherlock was trying to make John at ease without giving too much away about his own thoughts, he changed the topic again. "You didn't answer my question, did you have any dreams?"

John looked thoughtful for a moment, the only thing he could remember was moving closer and closer to Sherlock. "No, I guess I really needed the sleep. Did you dream about anything nice?"

"No, not really, although it was preferable to... other nights." Sherlock didn't want to elaborate on that, too many nights he'd had nightmares focusing on falling and John dying and he doubted John would feel any better if he mentioned them. "There wasn't anything recognisable really... just a lot of colour."

"Oh." John didn't say any more, though he badly wanted to ask if the difference in dreams was just a coincidence or whether it had something to do with how close he'd shuffled. Probably just a coincidence, he told himself, Sherlock was more than likely just humouring him by letting him stay so close for so long. "If you want me to move, just say, you know..."

"No, no, It's fine... It's all fine." Sherlock said with a grin, he didn't want John to move away and from his words it seemed John didn't want to move either. Sherlock thought it was probably because it would cause his leg pain but he had a suspicion that it was more than that and he usually turned out to be right. Even if with John he was sometimes surprised...

"Good, as long as I'm not hurting you." John looked up and saw Sherlock's grin, matching it with one of his own. It all felt very surreal, possibly because of the painkillers he was on, possibly because of how happy he was. Either way, it was hard to believe that this was happening.

On seeing John's grin Sherlock's heart swelled, oh dear this was a bit not good. Sherlock was nervous, a extremely rare occurrence for him, he didn't really know what to do or say. They'd gone past the niceties, he threw around for a conversation starter but came up blank, another rare occurrence. Damn it. Sherlock simply resumed watching John like he had been before he'd woken up.

John decided to take advantage of the position he was in and the good mood it had seemingly put Sherlock in. "Food," he said simply, looking hopefully towards Sherlock. "Try, please?"

"Something small... If you eat as well, though I still can't promise to keep it down."

John smiled, then sighed as if it were the hugest effort in the world to sit up and reach around to the call button. He pressed it then immediately sank back down into his space beside Sherlock, waiting.

A doctor hurried in, saw them looking fine and smiled, "What can I do for you?"

"Something bland and light for Sherlock's lunch," John said, looking thoughtful. "And possibly a bowl just in case. I'll have whatever's on the menu."

"Ah okay, I'll see what I can do and send someone up with it in a little bit." The doctor turned and left to walk down to the canteen.

Sherlock continued staring at John amused by the expressions on his face.

"Thank you." John watched the doctor walk away, keeping his eyes on the door as he pretended not to notice the way he was being watched. He managed for a few minutes before he gave in. "What's that look for?"

"Just you. You thought about what I should have for lunch more than what you wanted to have."

"You're fussy at the best of times, let alone when you're not well," John reasoned. "I don't care what I eat. Between my parents' rules at the dinner table when I was a kid and the rations we got in the Army, it's been well drilled into me to just eat whatever I get given without complaining."

"Hmmm." Sherlock already knew this but he still found it amusing, "But still you had a choice, I bet Mycroft's set it so we can eat anything we like..."

John just shrugged. "Probably. Doesn't matter though."


	16. Chapter 16

Lunch was prepared quickly and the cook brought it up on trays. "You're going to have to sit up to eat this." She eyed them waiting for them to move so she could give them their food.

John was certain he couldn't blush any more - until the cook came in and asked them to sit up. He (reluctantly) managed to push himself into a sitting position before offering Sherlock a hand up. "Slowly, you'll probably be a bit dizzy at first."

Sherlock took his hand and pulled himself up slowly, "Thanks." He smiled at John then snapped round as the cook placed a tray of assorted, very bland, food on his lap. He didn't think they looked too appealing. He eyed John's food, he'd had a big plate full of colourful foods placed over him.

"Ring the bell once you're done a nurse will come and clear up for you... Enjoy." The cook walked out again.

"Try and eat at least half of the rice and a few crackers too." John noticed the way Sherlock was looking at his food. "Unless you want to swap? You can have mine instead if you think you'll keep it down."

Sherlock grimaced, "Doubt I'd keep it down..." He picked up a cracker and nibbled on it. "Wish there was something to dip these in though."

After only the second mouthful of his vegetable soup, John licked the spoon clean and slid the bowl onto Sherlock's tray instead. "There, dip them in that," he said. "Not too much though." John was quite happy with just his chicken pie (if it could really be called that at all).

Sherlock smiled at John, "You shouldn't give up the best part of your meal... But thanks." He slid the bowl back to John's tray but proceeded in dipping the cracker in too, eating it quite happily after that, "Cracker?"

The chicken pie wasn't even in the top twenty worst dishes John had suffered through so it really wasn't a big deal that he'd sacrificed his soup. The peas and carrots and mashed potato made it a nutritious enough meal and if something was encouraging Sherlock to eat then it was worth it. "I'm alright. Take the soup."

"No." Sherlock pouted and continued stubbornly, "I'm not taking your food." But even though he objected he continued to dip crackers into it as he ate his way through a few more.

"You never had a problem with taking my food before. Using all the milk, stealing the jam for experiments. I'm used to it." John was so determined to let Sherlock have the soup now, that it no longer even seemed appetising to him.

"I never used all the milk! And I only used the jam for experiments a few times..." Sherlock frowned disliking the idea of taking anything from John if he couldn't give it back.

"If it makes you feel any better..." John reached over and scooped some of the rice from Sherlock's bowl onto his own plate. "There, now we've swapped."

"But why would you want that John? I doesn't have any flavour..." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, why did John have to be so stubborn? "Okay sure, but I'm not hungry any more anyway."

"If I mix it with the carrots and the pie..." He trails off, knowing there's no way he can make the meal sound desirable. "I want you to have the soup, okay? Is that really such a crime? Don't start sulking and refuse to eat, please."

Sherlock pouted even more at that thinking about how John knew him too well even if he didn't realise it. He gave in. "Fine." Sherlock turned away but continued eating crackers and soup slowly until he really wasn't hungry any more.

John cleared his own plate not long after Sherlock had finished eating the crackers. After emptying the glass of orange juice he reached up to ring the bell then looked towards Sherlock. "Feeling alright?"

"Not sure, I'll let you know when it's settled."

A nurse came in and cleared away the dishes leaving them alone again.

"Thank you for eating anyway," John said, realising with just a tiny bit of sadness how strange it was that it even occurred to him to thank Sherlock for such a thing.

Sherlock tried to smile as John but it wasn't very successful. "So... That nurse thought you were attractive."

John raised his eyebrows and laughed. "No she didn't, she's married," he pointed out.

"Doesn't mean she didn't find you attractive." Sherlock smirked,"She was looking at you 90% of the time she was in the room _and_ you got a glance back."

"Right. I didn't even notice. Why are you telling me this? Not like I'd actually do anything, even if she did like me and she wasn't married."

"Bored."

John tutted but smiled anyway, lying back down without saying a word.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock glanced round at John. "I hate hospitals." He admitted it sheepishly as he laid back a little too.

"Don't particularly like them myself either," John said. "It's why I joined the Army, in the end. I'd always wanted to, but then I qualified and realised I couldn't imagine working in a proper hospital like this so I just signed up. Harry was furious with me."

"A doctor that doesn't like hospitals?" Sherlock looked at John trying to figure something out, "You signed up because you didn't like hospitals?"

"That was only one of the reasons," John reiterated. "There were other reasons, obviously. It's not really a decision you can make based just on that."

"Obviously. But that it's a contributing factor is quite a surprise."

John shifted uncomfortably as he always did when he wasn't quite sure what point Sherlock was trying to make. "Why is that surprising?"

"Thought you'd have more profound reasons that's all." Sherlock shrugged then wished he hadn't of moved when his stomach clenched violently. "Ugh."

"There were other reasons." John repeated. "Even when I was-oh," he forgot the end of his sentence when Sherlock groaned, thrusting a bowl in front of him. "You don't look too good."

Sherlock smiled weakly, "Probably shouldn't of eaten that much..." He took the bowl but didn't need it.

"It was good. Nearly a normal amount." John watched Sherlock carefully for any signs that he was going to suddenly vomit, really wanting to avoid getting covered. "Want some water?"

"No. Not yet." Sherlock closed his eyes concentrating on keeping down the food John had given him, he was not going to waste John's food. The queasy feeling didn't go away as soon as he'd hoped but when he opened his eyes he smiled. "I'll be fine now. You can stop worrying."

John poured Sherlock a cup of water anyway, placing it on the table beside the bed and watching him anxiously. "Good. Take deep breaths and you'll be fine."

Sherlock obeyed John without question, breathing deeply. "I am fine."

"Yeah, you always are. Somehow."

"Hmmm." Sherlock slipped lower down in his bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. He wished time would hurry up and heal John and leave him not fine for once.

"What's wrong now?" John asked, sliding down beside him.

"Nothing." Sherlock pulled the cover over his head because he couldn't roll away to hide.

John's chest tightened as he watched Sherlock disappear under the sheets. It was more like something you'd see from a five year old throwing a tantrum but so typical of Sherlock. John had missed it all, even these tantrums he was prone to throwing for reasons apparent to nobody but himself. "Alright then." Suddenly, impulsively, he leaned down and hugged Sherlock properly then shuffled back over onto the gurney. "I'll leave you alone until 'nothing' stops being the matter."

Sherlock froze and his stomach clenched for another reason. John had just hugged him. John had just hugged him. What was going on? His mind was racing, then John pulled away and left only cold in his wake. Sherlock peeked out from under the cover, "John... Don't." Please don't leave me alone John...Sherlock thought... Please, I don't want to be alone again... I'm always alone without you...Sherlock was having problems forming words again, sentiment really wasn't his strong point.

"Don't what, Sherlock?" John asked innocently. "You've had enough of me, obviously so I'll just sit and read these medical notes until you change your mind." He had to be very careful not to look at his friend for too long, because he did look adorable just peeking out like that. John needed to be stern, like he would be if it was an actual child having the tantrum.

Sherlock looked up and John and bit his lip trying to get the words out right... "Don't leave me John? I-... I don't want you to leave..." Sherlock looked away and hid his face again, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable with how raw his emotions were feeling. Why wouldn't John look at him? Was he really just bored and wanted to leave him alone?

"I thought you wanted to be left alone, that's why you hid under the sheets." John was secretly thrilled at this admission, though, and he couldn't make himself appear indifferent for much longer. "I'll move back if you ask."

Sherlock's heart was racing, he knew John wasn't stupid and would probably work out what he was thinking if he did what he wanted and asked him to come back... It was irrational, it wasn't as if John was that far away but it still seemed like too far. He wondered how he was going to cope when they healed and he had to leave again but quickly pushed the painful thoughts from his brain in favour of the now. Sherlock peeked out the sheets to look at John again.

"John... please... will you come back?" He held his breath hoping.


	18. Chapter 18

John managed to hide his smile for all of about ten seconds before the grin took over his whole face. There was that adorable look again too and John couldn't help himself. "Of course."

Sherlock's eyes lit up as the grin took over John's face, he thought it made him look even more attractive which was pretty hard. Sherlock grinned in response and lifted up the covers so John could come back closer to him if he decided to.

If John's leg was in a better condition than it was, he'd have moved twenty times faster back into the space besides Sherlock. The best he could manage though was a careful shuffle over.

Sherlock watched as John struggled back over feeling slightly bad that he'd made him move but he couldn't say he regretted it when John was finally next to him again.

It was as if there was still a perfect space for John, where the sheets were still warm and crumpled. He settled down, sharing the covers with Sherlock and getting himself comfortable.

Sherlock was still grinning but was trying to control himself, his cheeks weren't used to smiling so much. His whole body could feel the warmth coming from John. He sighed relaxing, "I don't ever want you to leave."

"I'm not going to," John replied, quite fond of this new clinginess. "Well, I mean, I might. To go to the toilet or whatever, but I'll come back and I won't _leave you_, leave you."

Sherlock chuckled but stopped quickly, he wished he could reply saying the same and it physically pained him that he couldn't. He really couldn't bare to leave this brilliant man behind any more. "You know you're amazing John. No-one's ever stuck with me so long before and still wanted to stay."

John wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to reply to that. Sherlock didn't exactly make it easy for people to stay around and it was hardly surprising that nobody until John had persevered. "I'm not amazing, I just really like being your friend."

"John you're my best friend, you know I'm a genius and the world's only consulting detective, if I think you're amazing: you're amazing. Don't argue about it."

"I...um...that's..." If his stammers were anything to go by, John's face was likely scarlet by now. "That's a nice deduction but it's not really based on any real observations."

"Do you want observations?" Sherlock grinned again, he had so many reasons why John was amazing and if he needed the proof he'd give it to him.

"Go on then, it's been a while since somebody gave me ego a good boost."

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked John in the eyes. "You're amazing because you care about things, all the tiny insignificant people, all the idiots who hurt themselves: you want to help them and heal them. Not only that but you actually _can_ help them because you're clever and brilliant and a doctor. You've got strong moral standard and do what you think is right rather than what you're told is right, and I _admire_ that. Also it's proven by your army days and you only shooting when you thought my life was in immediate danger when we first met. John, you're amazing because you're patient and balanced and kind, traits I'm certain you have to possess to be able to live with me and be able to stay sane, you've show them multiple times again and again. Also..." Sherlock took another breath and hurried on, "You're amazing because and you made me more human John, you made me feel and appreciate things and recognise things that I was missing and I would _never_ of had that without you. You've made me a better person to the point where other people have noticed the difference, you are the reason I'm become a better person John, I'm positive of it. I really would be lost to the world without you. You pulled me back from the edge of darkness and saved me from myself and I thank you for it." He stated this all with certainty that it were true because Sherlock himself thought it was.

Then he added an afterthought, "Another thing that makes you more amazing is that you're ignorant to all of this, blind to what makes you so incredible and so very humble about yourself." Sherlock's cheeks had the lightest of blushes on them as he thought to himself... and that's why I love you John.

John had listened to the first ten seconds of Sherlock's speech listing reasons and counter-arguments to all of his points. He quickly lost track of his list as Sherlock went on and on. John's jaw dropped through the floor and he felt incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassed. "I didn't know you were even capable of feeling all of that," he said, snapping his mouth shut straight away as he realised how terrible that sounded. "I just meant, you never said any of this before and it's all...good. Really good stuff, even if some of it's not true. But it makes me really happy that you think that about me because I know you don't very often think highly of other people at all so thank you." John was quiet for a while, just looking at Sherlock. "Is it okay if I hug you now? That was the nicest thing I've ever heard you say to anybody and the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."

Instead of answering John's question Sherlock simply pulled John into a hug and whispered into his ear, "No John, it's all true and I only think highly of other people if they give me reason to believe they deserve it." His heart swelled at the idea of what he'd said making John happy instead of him rejecting him completely. But then again, John wasn't like most people who would just tell him to piss off...


	19. Chapter 19

John melted into the hug. It wasn't even worth arguing with Sherlock about whether it was true or not, not if he got hugged like this for it. Without hesitating (because really, what was the point after they'd spent the last half a day cuddled beside each other in bed?), he turned his head to the side, pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock's forehead and whispering in return, "Thank you."

Sherlock's blush deepened as he felt John's lips connect with he forehead. Was he dreaming? No, he knew he wasn't dreaming. His heart was beating so fast and loud he'd bet John count feel it. It hurt something dreadful, Sherlock was close to breaking down and sobbing but he couldn't do that. It would ruin this almost perfect moment which he'd risked everything and been living for the chance of these last years... "You're very welcome John." Sherlock choked it out pulling John in tighter, he'd refuse to let go if anyone tried to make him.

John lay very still and very quiet, listening to Sherlock's heartbeat until his phone buzzed from somewhere to his right. He waited several moments longer before partially unwrapping himself from Sherlock's arms to read the message. "It's from Mrs Hudson. She wants to come and see me," John said, smiling faintly. "That's nice of her, except she still doesn't know about you."

Sherlock swallowed clutching tighter still. "You have you go back to your room... She can't find out I'm still alive by finding me like this is hospital... you know what that would do to Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock frowned... he really didn't want to let go of John but he was doing to have to, for a few hours at least. He frown intensified at the thought of loosing the already limited time with him.

John shook his head. "I don't want to. She has to find out, anyway." He wanted to keep Sherlock to himself for longer, just his secret, but that would be selfish. Mrs Hudson had grieved for him too, she deserved to know the truth. "Maybe if I went out to meet her and told her the truth before bringing her back here. She'd have chance to prepare herself then, at least, and I wouldn't have to leave you for as long."

This was too much for Sherlock. His brain spun trying to find an excuse. No, he didn't have any excuses but he couldn't just tell John that Mrs. Hudson couldn't know yet because he couldn't come home... that he had to stay '_dead'_.

"No, John she can't know. Please trust me on this. She can't find out, not yet anyway, not till I can tell her myself." Hopefully that would be enough to persuade John... he didn't know what else he could say. Sherlock was filling up with sadness, all these emotions were more than he could bare... so raw and fresh and painful but most of all so new... never felt so extremely before, it was a harsh, cruel reality.

"Then just tell her yourself now," John suggested. "At least if she faints, there's plenty of people around to help her," he tried to reason. Really, there was no point in delaying her finding out any longer than they had to. "You know what she's like, she's not exactly a frail old lady. She's had a fair few shocks thanks to you, one more won't hurt." John moved his arms up so he was hugging Sherlock back. "Please, just tell her you're alive?"

Sherlock's heart felt like it was shattering to a million pieces. John was right about Mrs. Hudson, she could handle it if she was told now but the consequences might be too severe and he couldn't risk that. "I _can't_ John. Not because I don't want to." He hated not being able to do something John asked... maybe even more than not being able to do something he wanted. That was a troubling idea and he pushed it away to the back of his mind as he nuzzled into John's shoulder trying not to cry.

John didn't understand and he needed to. He'd wondered endlessly, after Sherlock had jumped, what if he'd listened more or said something different? Now that he had Sherlock back, albeit three years too late, he wasn't taking any chances like that again. He wanted to know everything. "Then why? Just tell me." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair as the other man tried to hide himself in John's shoulder, doubting his chances of getting any sort of coherent answer from him now.

Sherlock tensed at the hand in his hair, it made his ability to control the tears welling up in his eyes even harder for some irrational reason. He hated it but he loved the touch. But he didn't want to cry. He froze not knowing what to do. He doubted he could speak and he didn't try to, his voice would betray him now and he didn't have an answer anyway. He couldn't tell John either.

"Sherlock, I have to reply to Mrs Hudson and tell her what time she can come," John said gently. "You need to decide if you're going to let her see you. If not, I'll ask her to wait until after dinner and I'll stay with you until then." John didn't really think Sherlock was in any fit state to be left alone right now, for whatever reason. "Please tell me why you're so upset all of a sudden?"

Sherlock swallowed down the lump in his throat and decided to tell John a compromised truth... " Because I _can't_ tell her so she can't see me. Not my decision. Also, I don't want you to leave me while she visits you but you'll _have_ to." Sherlock buried his head down further into John's shoulder holding him tighter feeling him there whilst he still could.

John wasn't getting anywhere, they were just going around in circles now. He still didn't understand why Sherlock couldn't tell Mrs Hudson he was alive - she'd be over the moon - but it was pointless pushing it any more. He kissed the top of Sherlock's head and held him close. He'd try again when Sherlock had calmed down and was less upset.

Sherlock was feeling overwhelmed, a rare occurrence... He _wanted_ to tell John, to tell Mrs Hudson, to ring Lestrade and tell him too but he knew he couldn't. The were still in _danger_ if he told them, even if they did have a slight bit more time now. He wanted to tell John more than anything else. He wanted to be with John. He wanted... Oh he wanted more than anything to stay and just hold him forever however cliché that seemed. He found himself wondering about how if _only _John could come with him when he had to disappear again... He continued to hold John in silence then muttered, "I thought you had to text Mrs. Hudson back... she'll be worried."

"I'll give her a ring now. Keep quiet if you don't want her to know you're here." John scrolled through his address book and pressed call when he reached her name, leaning slightly away from Sherlock as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello...Yes, yes, I'm fine...No, I've just been resting...Do you want to come in about six o'clock?...That's great...Bring a few spare pairs of pyjamas. And some of Sherlock's old ones too...What? No, just for sentimental reason...You're right, it can be quite lonely...I'll see you later then, you too. Bye."

Sherlock stayed quiet until John was finished on the phone then laughed... "Sentiment? She's going to talk about that one."

"Shut up, it gets you some clean clothes, doesn't it?" John tapped Sherlock gently on the arm, pretending to be annoyed. Really, he was just relieved that he'd not read any more into it than he had. John could really do without Sherlock knowing that he'd refused to empty the flat of any of his things, that he liked them there so that on bad days he could just go and sit in the middle of everything and remember him.

"I suppose it does." Sherlock was still laughing he couldn't seem to stifle it, probably because his emotions was so highly strung. "Thanks it was thoughtful of you." Sherlock grinned into John, he really was amazing to him...

"I can probably get her to bring a few more of your things without making her suspicious, if there's anything you wanted," John offered.

That was tempting, but no. Sherlock had lived this long without his dearest comforts he could do it again. Besides the only thing he truly wanted was with him now anyway.

"No, no... It's all fine. I don't need anything _else_." He squeezed John again on the last word then his brain went wild. Oh god... John _really_ isn't that stupid, he's going to know... His brain went whirling out of control and it was all he could do to stop his hands from shaking.

John's heart skipped a beat and he wasn't quite sure how he could be expected to have much more self-control, not when Sherlock was being so...perfect, probably without even realising it. Normally, he'd have been sensible about something like this, stopping and talking about feelings and things, but he wasn't sure that was a conversation that would go very far with Sherlock.

Instead, John just dearly hoped that Sherlock would say something if he got too close to taking advantage of his flatmate - that was the last thing he wanted. With that resolve in mind, John closed his eyes and leaned forwards to press his lips against Sherlock's. Self-control was definitely long forgotten.


	20. Chapter 20

When John's lips touched his Sherlock's heart all but stopped. He didn't even question if it was really happening, he knew from the way his body felt like it was on fire that was was real. It took him a while to respond he was so shocked, he couldn't come to terms with the idea that John could feel that same but he'd be damned if he gave up this opportunity. He kissed John back with all the passion he could muster trying to convey all the years of longing and regret for not doing this sooner, for leaving, for having to leave again. He tried to put all his feelings into it just to let John know, hoping he really did understand. He ran his hand up into John's hair as he kissed him leaving it there lightly so John could pull away if he wanted to. Sherlock's mind was screaming; John I love you, I love you, please know I love you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you. Sherlock didn't know if he was doing this right, but he didn't care, this was John, he let his instincts take over.

John kissed Sherlock until he was short of breath, a thought that brought a horrifying realisation to mind. "What am I doing, you're supposed to be ill!" His own heart was racing and he was light-headed, and he wasn't on half the drugs Sherlock was right now. Flustered, John plugged Sherlock back into all the machines. "I don't want to send you into cardiac arrest," he muttered, laughing nervously as he waited for them all to calibrate and show him Sherlock's observations.

"You're ill too John..." Sherlock pouted, he hadn't wanted the kiss to end. He let John plug him back in but when John had done he pulled him back over and placed a kiss on the tip of John's nose. "Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" John asked, seriously, keeping one eye on the monitor. "And answer me truthfully, do you feel alright?"

"John... I... I feel better than I have in so long..." He blinked trying to set his feelings aside to think and answer normally. Damn emotions clouded his judgement so much... "I know you're referring to my physical state," he paused blushing and flustered, his heart was racing and his skin was on fire, he couldn't feel pain though the pleasurable chemicals running though his blood... "I... I'm fine. I just can't properly assess because well..." He interlaced John's hand with his and placed it over his heart, John would be able to feel the strong beat even under his clothes. "Rationally I'll say my blood has come back quite a lot to be able to be that strong."

John held his hand against Sherlock's chest and felt for the heartbeat, counting the beats under his breath. "That's definitely a good sign. For more than one reason." He closed the distance left between them and kissed him again, no longer as worried that he was putting unnecessary strain on Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled as the distance closed again kissing back tenderly this time but no less feeling. "John..." He was chanting under his breath in between kisses, he didn't even notice he was doing it he was just enjoying the moment.

John almost wasn't sure that this was all happening, it seemed too good to be true. Sherlock was alive and that was fantastic and brilliant and amazing, just like the man himself, and yet somehow things had still managed to get even better because now he was actually _kissing_ him. "This was completely worth getting shot for, thank you," John mumbles, aware of how stupid that probably sounded.

Sherlock was shocked by this, stopped kissing John grabbed either side of his face, looking intensely at him, "No John... Nothing is worth risking _your_ life for. Your life is everything that I've been protecting. Don't think you have to be shot to get this."

"I'm not hoping to make a habit of getting shot, don't worry," John says. "Twice is more than enough." He smiles despite himself when he takes in that look Sherlock is giving him. "Just saying, if my choice was between getting shot and missing out on this, well...I don't regret the decision I made."

"You better not plan on getting shot again." Sherlock almost growled then he thought and couldn't help but smile, "But I can't say I feel any differently, it's almost as bad as giggling at a crime scene..."

"The giggling was all your fault," John insists, starting to giggle again at the very memory.

Sherlock sends John a grin, "I must be getting better, you're laughing."

"You said in your text that you wanted me to laugh, didn't you?" John asks. "You're going to be fine."

"Yes, it's almost equal to the violin." Sherlock didn't really care about whether he was going to be fine or not, just so long as John kept on smiling and laughing. It was good to see after he'd caused him so much pain and suffering that John could still laugh and be happy, and it would be nice if it would continue.

John laughs again, aware that it sounds slightly forced this time but just wanting to make Sherlock happy. "I still prefer the violin," he says. "Most of the time, anyway."

Sherlock frowned all too aware that he hadn't played his violin in years, he missed it almost as must as he'd missed John.

"If I keep laughing, will you play for me when you come home?" John asks. "Do you think it'll be easy to pick up again after not practising in so long?"

"I'll play for you when I _finally_ get home whether you keep laughing or not John though I can't promise to be on best form for the first minute or so." Sherlock forced a smile, when would he finally get to go home? Weeks? Months? ...Years? Why couldn't he push this from his mind when John was there and everything should be wonderful. "How long before you're leaving to prepare for Mrs. Hudson's arrival?"

"Don't say it like that, it won't be too much longer. Ten days, I told you, maybe less." John grinned excitedly at the prospect. "I can't wait for you to come home." He didn't think he'd believe this was all really happening until Sherlock was sat in 221b with him. "I'll go in about half an hour, just in case she's early."

Sherlock simply sighed and pulled John close again, holding him tightly. If only it was going to be such a short time... if only he knew.


	21. Chapter 21

John let his head rest on Sherlock's pillow, settling comfortably into the space next to him. "When I'm with Mrs Hudson, just be good for the nurses, alright? No getting out of bed or anything. They won't let me come back afterwards if you do that."

"Of course, I'll wait like a good patient." Sherlock smirked, "You really think I'm so stupid as a to try getting out of bed again? Even if some of the ...after effects... were to my liking."

John could feel himself turning pink. "You didn't need to nearly kill yourself to get any of that..." he mumbled. "Would've done it anyway."

"Oh really?" Sherlock put on a mock air of innocence, "And how would you have propositioned me?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Didn't really proposition you this time, did I? Just invited myself onto your bed. You could always have propositioned me."

"You didn't really invite yourself you know... and how was I supposed to proposition you Dr "I'm-not-gay" Watson?" Sherlock chuckled, clutching John closer to his chest, "Though I suppose that is true..."

"I'm _not_ gay," John insists, though the evidence behind that argument was looking pretty weak right now. "How would you have done it, then?"

"Since you didn't properly answer my question I don't see that I have to." Sherlock pecked a kiss at John's neck on instinct, "No doubt that will leave you to wonder over it."

"You should tell me, it'll give me something to think about when I have to go back next door," John said. "Please? Kissing me, nice as it is, won't make me forget about it either."

"Humph... I bet it _could_ make you forget about it..."

"That wasn't a challenge," John smirked, kissing Sherlock briefly anyway.

Sherlock kissed back then withdrew, "Really?" he arched an eyebrow, "Shall I make it into one?"

John couldn't say no to that. "Just try and remember we are in a hospital, Sherlock."

Sherlock leaned in kissing John's jaw and whispered, "I'll just leave it for now then..."

"When we get home, yeah?" Suddenly ten days seemed a lifetime to wait. "So...back to my question, how would you have propositioned me?"

Sherlock heaved another sigh, "Yeah... at home..." He closed his eyes thinking and breathing John in. He really hadn't thought about how he'd _realistically _proposition John, even in his hopes and dreams there had been the faintest reminder that John wouldn't accept his feelings and he'd long since decided against any of it in favour of keeping him safe and happy.

John kissed along Sherlock's shoulder and collarbone, giving up on asking Sherlock for the time being. He'd get an answer out of him eventually, and no doubt it would be something totally insane but somehow endearing too.

Sherlock held John there for a moment but grew more aware of the time passing so with a heavy heart noted they should probably call someone to take John back to his room.

"I don't want to go," John said sadly. He didn't see why Sherlock couldn't just see Mrs Hudson - she'd be thrilled he was back and even happier at whatever-it-was that was going on between them. Scared of upsetting him again though, John decided not to mention it and just quietly sulked about having to leave.

"I don't want you to go either so don't sulk, I'm sure you'll be back in here in a couple of hours..." Sherlock pouted then smiled sadly as he moved away out of their embrace.

John grabbed hold of Sherlock and pulled him back. "Hold on," he muttered, and gave Sherlock one last, slow kiss for the time being. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he rolled himself over and back onto the gurney then, as carefully as he could, lowered himself back into the chair.

Watching as John lowered himself down Sherlock was hit by how brave a soldier John was, forever fighting against the pain or even showing he felt any. "John..."

John looked up, smiling as much as he could. "Yeah?"

"See you soon yeah?" He asked it almost timidly, wondering how long John was going to be away from him, whether the doctors would let him return tonight or if he would have to wait till the morning to see his wonderful blogger again.

"Of course you will," John smiled. "Press the buzzer for a nurse, I'd better get going."

Sherlock pressed the button calling the nurse to them, "You better do."

The nurse arrived soon after and looked startled at seeing John in the wheelchair, "What's going on?"

"I've got a visitor coming at six," John explained to the nurse. "I'm going back to my room because Sherlock doesn't feel quite up to seeing anybody else yet."

"Ah, so you want me to wheel you? Sure, ready to go now?" She set too seeing he was comfortably in the chair as Sherlock watched a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Please," John said, reluctantly. He hated admitting that he couldn't just take himself back there - it was only a few metres down the corridor, after all.

"Off we go then." The nurse proceeded to push John into his own room, parking him by his bed ready to help him into his own bed. "We'd best check you over, it seems you haven't been in here for quite some time."

John waved at Sherlock on the way out, slumping forwards in the chair as soon as he was out of view. He was so exhausted, so groggy, but he hadn't dared show any of that in front of Sherlock. It was almost a relief that he could drop the façade for a few hours, get a bit of his strength back. Getting into bed looked like a momentous enough task right now.

The nurse noticed his reluctance to use the effort getting into bed with a frown knowing he'd pushed himself too hard. "Shall we just take your tests with you sat there until you feel up to getting into bed?" She didn't wait for a reply but instead started altering his medication which had all but run out.

John shook his head, taking some deep breaths. "No, get it over and done with," he said, checking the brakes on the chair. He counted himself in under his breath, then pushed himself up with his arms, swivelled around and let himself collapse backwards onto the bed.

The nurse tutted at him, "You should really let me help with such things it would put a lot less strain on your leg."

"I have to get used to using it again if I'm going to be looking after Sherlock," John reasoned, breathlessly. "Just sort my medicine out, please," he asked, a slight note of desperation in his voice.

She quickly finished off with the medicine still giving him reproachful looks, "Really now, your only concern is looking after yourself, you're both in our care _we're_ supposed to be looking out for the both of you, there is really no need to interfere." She scorned him as she set up the machines to check him over properly.

John just sighed loudly at that. He wanted to argue but, with as little energy as he had right now, it wasn't worth the effort, not when Mrs Hudson would be here so soon. All his energy had to be conserved for going back to Sherlock later, so he didn't even bother making recommendations to the nurse when his observations flashed up on the machines.

Meanwhile Sherlock had relaxed back into his bed feeling an irrational sense of abandonment. He supposed now he had time to mull over what exactly he was going to do, what with John, Mycroft and Moran he was certain that this little break in hospital would be the only rest he'd find in the coming months. He felt little courage at the prospect of the task at hand knowing he'd have to do so without his brave heart and moral fibre by his side. But be that as it may he had to do it, if only to serve the purpose of getting back to John indefinitely. Knowing he'd only made John leave so that Mrs. Hudson didn't happened to catch a glimpse of him he knew he had to do something about the windows and doors of his room. Sherlock sighed as he pressed the button again, summoning another nurse.

"What can I do for you?"

"Close all the blinds." He snapped irritable by his circumstances, then remembered John's teaching in social norms and added a hurried "please."

She did so, then set to checking his medicines and noting things from the machines like John's nurse had no doubt finished by now.

John watched his nurse scribble notes down onto his chart from the machines, eyes drooping closed under the combined force of his exhaustion and the medication. He had to stay awake for Mrs Hudson's visit, but he had to get rest so he could return to Sherlock sooner. If they'd just give them a room together, things would be a lot easier.

"There all done, you should be fine with a bit more rest... Visiting hours start in 5 minutes so I've no doubt your visitor will be along very soon after that. _Do_ try not to strain yourself further." and with that the nurse left John to go back to her other duties.


	22. Chapter 22

John was just nodding off when Mrs Hudson arrived bringing with her what looked like half the flat to make things feel a bit more like home. John thanked her and struggled to sit up, chatting to her about all sorts of things. Eventually, the inevitable came up. "What on Earth were you doing to get yourself shot, John?" she asked and John drew a total blank. He couldn't tell her he was trying to save Sherlock.

"I was just unlucky, wrong place at the wrong time," he lied, secretly feeling the exact opposite of unlucky.

Sherlock was now alone next door with only the blank room and his thoughts to keep him occupied. He strained his ears to hear John's and Mrs. Hudson's voices his very being yearning to be with them but he sat tight. He would endure this as practice of the distance he'd have to put between them. He began formulating various plans trying to rationalise to a John in his brain why he had to leave again to no prevail. He gave it up as a lost cause for now and decided to text Mycroft for any progress that was being made on the case.

Your idiots found Moran yet? -SH

There was no reply which Sherlock took as a no to his question. If Mycroft's people _had_ found Moran his brother would no doubt want to gloat over 'his' success. Sherlock tried again.

Any news? -SH

Not of yet. -MH

Sherlock sighed even more exasperated, great his job would be harder and longer when he got out of hospital if they hadn't managed to find traces of Moran by now... He let his thoughts go back to John... oh perfect John... Always risking so much yet it seemed to Sherlock he barely gave anything back in return. He'd always strive to be the best for John and to protect him but he often saw the harsh reality of his short comings, John being in hospital at all was evidence for them. Sherlock was beginning to get angry at himself, why did he ever let any of this happen? If only he hadn't been so stupid... if only he could of got rid of Moriarty before his last games had played out... Sherlock was lost to the "if onlys..." for quite sometime and when he roused from those thoughts he had a strong presence of guilt in his stomach he couldn't quite shake. Wondering if John was enjoying his meeting with Mrs Hudson he strained his ears again hoping to hear the voices he'd failed to hear before.

By the end of visiting hours, John was bursting to tell Mrs Hudson the truth - Sherlock was alive! He was amazed that he'd managed to keep it from slipping out, it'd been on his mind the whole time - worrying about Sherlock, thinking about Sherlock, missing Sherlock. It wasn't fair to hide something so wonderful from Mrs Hudson, but Sherlock had been clear. Eventually, Mrs Hudson stood up

"I'll be back in a day or two, I'll bring you some more things. Send me a message if you think of anything else you need," she insisted, and John thanked her both for the offer and the company. He loved Mrs Hudson and it had been honestly nice to see her but he was glad she was going too so he could get back to Sherlock.

He pressed the buzzer to call for a nurse and sent Sherlock a quick text.

She's gone now. -JW

You should rest. -SH

No, I've just called a nurse to bring me back through to you. -JW

Are you certain they'll let you come back? The staff seemed against you staying yesterday. -SH

At that point the moody nurse returned to John's room, "Can I get you something?"

I can try. -JW

"My visitor's gone now, I'm ready to move back next door," John said, hoping he'd regained a little bit of colour to his cheeks since he first got back to his own room.

The nurse looked sceptical and raised an eyebrow, "Are you quite sure? You shouldn't be moving about it's not in your, and therefore our, best interests. You should eat, sleep here and we'll see about taking you back next door tomorrow shall we?"

Sherlock waited a moment then texted back.

Any luck? -SH

"I'm more than quite sure, I'm absolutely positive," John said confidently. "You have to let me go back tonight. I can eat and sleep there, there's a gurney for me and I can take my medication through with me, it will be fine," he explained, trying to stay rational for now. He'd break out other arguments if need be, but it was long-ingrained into him to stay on the good side of the nurses, both as a doctor and a patient.

I'm trying. -JW

I'll take that as a no. -SH

"Yes well, though I have no doubt you _could _eat and sleep there. However, it is suggested to be better for your health to have your own bed." She gave John a stern look. "Even with medication it won't help your body heal to be moving around so soon. You should limit yourself to flexing and shifting your weight around."

"I'm a doctor," he said simply. "My medical knowledge is superior to yours and I can say with certainty that the healing process will not be delayed significantly by moving me to the next room."

While John enjoyed pulling rank within the Army, pulling rank in a hospital was generally regarded as a quick way to make enemies. Nevertheless, it had been necessary in this situation.

The nurse narrowed are eyes. "Fine. Move."


	23. Chapter 23

John tried his best to hide his grin. One unfortunate circumstance of pissing the nurses off was that they could make life incredibly difficult for him. It was worth it though, even if he could've done with a little bit more support transferring into the wheelchair. Or, in fact, any support at all. Slowly, he shuffled himself to the end of the bed, determined not to show any signs of being in pain in front of the nurse.

The nurse continued to scowl, she really hated having her opinions disregarded. "Anything else you would like _doctor?_"

Sherlock sat awaiting another text, hopefully not saying he'd have to wait to see John. But the absence of such a text as comforting also because that held the possibility John was already on his way. He allowed himself some hope and happiness at the idea of John's return to him.

"No, I'm quite alright, thank you," John said through gritted teeth and, just as he had done earlier, pushed himself onto his feet, swivelled, lowered himself down...and missed the chair, landing in a heap on the floor. "I'm _fine_!" he barked out before the nurse had a chance to say anything, though inside his head he was cursing and swearing like never before.

The nurse, however irritated, always helped patients in need so rushed forward to help support his weight and guide him into the wheelchair. "Really, that is no way to prove you're able to move around."

John felt sick and his head was spinning from the sudden jolt, but didn't say anything. Instead, he quietly got into the chair with considerable assistance from the nurse and waited.

The nurse checked his medication hadn't been unsettled by the fall whilst tutting thinking all the while had he accepted her judgement he wouldn't of had this discomfort now. "How are you feeling?" She asked half mockingly knowing he would have caused himself a spur of dizziness.

"Light-headed, nauseous, dizzy," John listed quietly, certain he'd proved himself enough for one day. "Still fine though."

"Maybe it would be best if you got back into bed."

"I really just want to see Sherlock," John said, voice still low.

"Fine." She huffed, "Ready to go?"

"Ready." John was slightly disbelieving that she was letting him go, but he wasn't going to complain.

The nurse rolled her eyes at him and pushed him slowly into Sherlock's room careful not to make him feel worse.

Sherlock considerably brightened as he saw John enter, "I was beginning to think you weren't coming back."

"I said I'd come back, didn't I?" John asked, smiling tiredly. "Not sure I'll be much company, mind you, but I wouldn't just leave you."

Sherlock smiled from where he sat. "Come on lay down and you can go to sleep if you want."

The nurse was frowning but went to help John move anyway, "What about eating?" she shot at them.

"We'd better have something to eat before I go to sleep," John agreed with the nurse. "That means you as well, Sherlock." He accepted the nurse's help moving up onto the trolley again, deciding not to mention his fall to Sherlock.

"Well then, what can I have order up for you both?"

Sherlock pouted, "I'm not hungry."

"I'll have whatever's the main option on the menu tonight. Sherlock _will_ eat, he can have some more soup and crackers."

"I'll have it sent up." The nurse said curtly obviously not amused by being used as a waitress. She turned and left.

Sherlock turned to face John, "Really John, I'm not hungry."

John looked at Sherlock, hoping he wouldn't have to plead with him. "Do you know what I've just been through to get them to agree to let me come back?" John asked. "If you stop eating they'll be even more reluctant to let me be with you."

Sherlock frowned looking away ashamed. "Sorry..." He said hurriedly. He really was sorry, he'd put John through enough. He'd force himself to eat to make him happy, it wasn't really that much of a deal, he'd done it before and he really didn't want John to be taken away again.

"You don't have to eat loads," John reasoned. "Just a little bit to settle your stomach. There's only so much they can give you through your IV, you know."

Sherlock stayed silent looking at the wall, he remembered all the arguments about eating when they were back at 221b together and smiled slightly. Why did he even miss the arguments? Even though, he couldn't bring himself to argue now however much he didn't want to eat.

John frowned at the silence initially, but then relaxed. At least he was with Sherlock now, and not talking did conserve his energy for longer. He wondered what else he could do to conserve his energy and his eyes were immediately drawn to the medicine hanging from his drip stand. Reaching up, he tightened the dial and reduced the dose. It would probably cause a little bit of pain...no, more discomfort than anything, but he was good at hiding it anyway. At least it would last longer this way, he'd be able to stay with Sherlock longer too.

Sherlock turned back to look at John again at his movement, "Why are you doing that?" He knew John needed the strong medication for the pain, even if it wasn't as bad as his own.

"Just adjusting it a little bit, it's fine," John answered, trying to deflect the question.

"You need your medication John. You'll be sleeping soon anyway and you can't control your pain in your sleep."

"What pain? I'm fine," John insisted. "Really, it won't make a difference, it's just that nurse setting it too high in the first place."

Sherlock knew that wasn't right, he knew it had been the same as earlier before John had changed it but he let it rest. "How was Mrs. Hudson?"

John pursed his lips, taking a few seconds of silence out of principle. He still didn't agree with Sherlock not agreeing to see her. "Fine," he said eventually. "Brought me some cake, fussed over me a bit."

Sherlock sighed, same old Mrs Hudson. He smiled a bit grimly. "Did she talk you half to death?"

"Of course she did," John laughed. "About everything, didn't know so much could happen in two days."

Sherlock very nearly rolled his eyes. "It's Mrs Hudson you should expect it John."

"Just you wait, you've got three years of stories to catch up on."

That he could deal with, he didn't actually have to listen or store it to his memory. Sherlock laughed slightly, "She won't even remember half of it by the time I get back."

"I think you underestimate her," John mumbled. "She remembers enough to talk at you for at least a day and a half and I think you owe it to her to actually listen for once, be polite."

Sherlock smiled, there John goes again knowing what he's thinking without actually realising it. John really didn't know how special he was and Sherlock wished he could show him... he remembered the conversation, "You try listening with all your attention on Mrs Hudson for a day and a half without zoning out and tell me if it's possible and I'll try it."

"I also thought surviving a fall from a tall building was impossible, but you managed that." John didn't seem to realise what he was saying until he'd said it and he paled, looking away awkwardly. "Sorry," he muttered.

Ah, he'd been wondering when that would come up. He'd expected John to be angry at him, he'd expected him to punch him. But then again the circumstances of them meeting again weren't exactly as he'd expected either. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, he didn't know what to say. He knew he'd hurt John, he knew if wouldn't just go away by him coming back. He also knew he had to disappear again, though this time he doubted there would need to be an act involved.

"I...umm..." Sherlock cleared his throat, "You have no need to apologise John."

John stared down at his legs and willed himself not to waste the energy it would take to get angry. Shouting and screaming and demanding answers could wait until they were both better.

Somehow John's silence was worse than anything Sherlock had anticipated at this point, "John... Really, I _should_ be the one that's sorry. I _am _sorry. But it had to be done." Sherlock didn't even bother to mention that it had been bad for him too. Bad didn't even cover it, it was one of the worst experiences of his life. He'd hated leaving John, it had hurt him in so many ways. But still, he swallowed down his pride to take all the blame because he knew it was his. Sherlock almost loathed himself for it. His eyes begun to sting and he couldn't look at John any more, to turned to look in the opposite direction.

John's throat closed up and he shook his head at Sherlock, trying to tell him to just _shut up_. He swallowed a few times until he was sure he could talk normally again. "I didn't mean to say that, it was just...a joke, you know?" he insisted. "I was just saying, you do impossible things all the time so listening to Mrs Hudson should be easy." He hoped the change of subject would stick because he wasn't willing to discuss _that_ today.

Sherlock was biting his lip, begging the tears not to spill over. He'd caused this. It was his fault. He had no right to feel this way. He could tell John was trying to change the topic away and he knew it'd be best to speak, say something, say anything to make them both feel even slightly better but Sherlock couldn't speak in fear of he voice breaking with the emotions racking through him. He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. He blinked away the tears and turned back to John trying to keep his face a mask, emotionless, "Listening to Mrs Hudson isn't easy at the best of times, she can go on so it gets dreadfully tedious." There he'd said something, barely a shake in his voice, no trace John would pick up on.

"Try, that's all I'm asking," John said, clearly tired of teetering on the edge of the topic. He lay back with a sigh, the lowered dose of medication finally catching up with him.

"You really shouldn't have turned your medication down you know. Now you need to sleep and I expect the food will be here momentarily."

"I don't want to get dependant on it," John said, trying a different angle of excusing it this time. "I'm completely fine without the higher dose, I told you." He smiled convincingly, pushing away the nausea and general malaise that was creeping up on him.

Sherlock wasn't fooled, "Sure, you look fine about it too." He raised an eyebrow but at that moment a trolley-lady arrived to pass them their food.

"I'm just tired," John said seriously, only shutting up because the food arrived.

"Here you go dears..." She placed the trays over them after they rearranged themselves, smiling in a motherly nature.


End file.
